As The Romans Do
by Helga Von Nutwimple
Summary: Post AtS finale. The Scoobies arrive to save the Fang Gang, but the final battle is just the beginning. Split up and on the run, the combined casts discover that their pasts may be just as perilous as their futures. INCOMPLETE.
1. Prologue

Title: As The Romans Do  
Author: Helga Von Nutwimple  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Property of Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.  
Feedback: Crave it like Clem craves kittens.  
Setting: Around and beyond 'Angel' episode 5x22  
Summary: The Final Battle is just the beginning.  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
Prologue  
Rome, Italy  
  
The knife blade glittered, making a sweeping silver arc as it descended, penetrating with a sickening crunch.  
  
Andrew thrust with his hands, reaching in...  
  
"May your enemies cower in your path, Harris," he whispered.  
  
... and pulled out the box of Cap'n Crunch.  
  
Andrew shoved aside the FedEx box, dropping the knife into the foam packing peanuts. He had a fair guess as to what the rest of the contents were -- Xander had laughed at the list, but Andrew had known he would understand. Since his arrival back in the States, Xander had _totally_ been using his powers for awesome.  
  
The Cap'n Crunch, though -- that was the prize. Rome had its delights -- soaring archetecture, millenia of history, and a certain pungent smell that kind of grew on you after a while -- but a wide selection of breakfast cereals was not one of them.  
  
Andrew grabbed a bowl from a cabinet with surging joy, willing himself not to let the thumps and moans from the other room interrupt his sacred, high-glycemic reunion.  
  
"O Cap'n, My Cap'n," Andrew intoned reverently as the sounds of wheaty nuggets hitting bowl very nearly masked another gasping shriek from Buffy.  
  
Andrew would say this for Dawn -- she might have a whine audible for parsecs and a really nasty habit of hitting him a lot, but at least when she was home, he was spared the audio track of "Buffy: The Immortal Banger".  
  
A folded sheet of paper fell from the box, landing in his cereal.  
  
Andrew groaned. "Prizes get worse _every_ year..."  
  
He reached out, crumpling the paper, preparing for a two-pointer... and stopped.  
  
Handwriting.  
  
Xander's handwriting.  
  
Andrew smoothed the letter out on the countertop, plucking a dry nugget out of his bowl and raising it to his lips.  
  
His eyes widened.  
  
He stepped backwards.  
  
He lunged for the phone.


	2. MoanSqueakMoan

"Giles?"

"You heard. Why are you whispering?"

"I'm in the bathroom." Andrew switched the phone to his other ear. "Buffy's here."

"Ah. If I might ask, what method..."

"Box of Cap'n Crunch."

Giles' laugh, flattened by the phone lines, still smoothed the edges of Andrew's fear. "And I received mine around a can of 'Old English 800'. The boy does not change."

"Giles..."

"Yes?"

"Do I tell Buffy now?"

A heavy sigh. "Not yet. I'll... make inquiries. But do call Dawn, and... perhaps it would be best if Buffy ended her date for the evening."

Andrew shot a glance of pure dread across the apartment. "Can't I just... can't I tell her? You don't understand, Giles, I'm her roommate, she's gonna blame me the most..."

"Andrew." Giles' voice made Andrew sit up a little straighter. "We ripped her out of heaven once. I'd rather not do it again until we have to."

And... dial tone.

"So it's armageddon, would a little etiquette kill you people?" Andrew groused, hitting the "end" button.

'Ripped her out of heaven'. Easy for Giles to say. Like Andrew wasn't going to have to go rip her out of heaven right now...

A loud shriek of delight penetrated the bathroom.

"Thanks for backin' me up there, Buff."

Andrew crossed back into the kitchen, casting a longing glance at his still-dry cereal bowl before setting the phone back into its cradle and padding barefoot across the living room. Buffy was not going to be happy about this...

He parked himself in front of her door, shoving his hands in his pockets... then reconsidering. He might need to defend himself. "Buffy?"

No answer. Well, unless you counted kittenish moans as an answer, which Andrew was usually happy to... just not in this particular situation.

He pumped up his volume. "Buffy?"

Another moan.

"BUFFY!"

Moan-squeak-moan.

"Screw it," he muttered, flinging the door open...

And froze, staring.

"Spike?" Andrew breathed. "When did you get here?"

Buffy and Spike turned to look at him in shock, Spike's hair darkening, the sharp edges of his features softening... until The Immortal lay atop Buffy, staring at Andrew impatiently.

"T-there's business," Andrew stammered. "I-I'm about to call Dawn, and..."

"Right," Buffy snapped, her all-business tone at war with her flaming red cheeks. "I'm afraid I'll have to..."

"S'alright, carissima," The Immortal stroked her cheek. "I will be on my way."

He bent his lips to Buffy's, and Andrew flinched, pivoting on his heel. "I'll be... out there. Where, uh, the stuff is. And stuff."

-----------------

"Who'd you have to sell your soul to for the Cap'n Crunch?"

Andrew looked up, mouth full of nuggety goodness. "Xander."

"He's in the States? I thought he was in Africa..." Buffy twisted her hair up, securing it with a barrette, all visible trace of her earlier embarrassment gone.

"He's doing some research. It's an eyeball thing."

"Oh, damn. I thought he was kinda dashing as a pirate." Buffy eyed Andrew's bowl. "You in a sharing mood?"

"Might be," Andrew swallowed. "If you are. You wanna tell me something?"

"You've got Crunch on your shirt."

"I was thinking something a bit taller, fangier, bleachier..."

Buffy's gaze averted, and she reached into the cabinet for a bowl. "It's one of his talents. He can take the form of anyone he's tasted, and he used to know Spike..."

"I know," Andrew took the opportunity of Buffy's turned back to slide Xander's note into his pocket.

"How?"

"Huh?"

"How do you know?"

Andrew studied his cereal intently. "He, ah, told me. So, uh... does he take the form of Angel, too? That's some kinky sex game you guys got."

"He knew Angel?"

"Knew 'em both," Andrew said, turning around and licking his spoon. "Gotta say, I'm intrigued that you never requested _that_ one of his talents..."

"I said I missed Spike, he offered," Buffy snapped. "If I want to see Angel, I can get on a plane."

"Missed Spike, eh?" Andrew's grin was rapidly approaching smirk.

"The man burned to a crisp for me, I'm allowed a little gratitude."

"Gratitude. So all that moaning was your way of saying 'Hey, platonic buddy, thanks for closing the Hellmouth'? Couldn't you have just taken Bizarro Spike out for a nice dinner?"

"My and Spike's relationship was... complicated." Buffy brandished her spoon in Andrew's face. "And _don't_ sing the song, you are _not_ required to sing the song every time I..."

"Oh, I wouldn't." Andrew raised an eyebrow. "Seeing the way he's acting like he's somebody else didn't seem to be getting you... _frustrated_ at all."

Buffy growled, low in her throat. "What's the business?"

"Eh?"

"That you're calling Dawn home for? That I interrupted my date for?"

"We have to wait for Giles to call me back."

Buffy groaned. "Couldn't you at least... sum up?"

"There might be a... situation in the States."

"Angel?"

"Yeah, and... some others."

Buffy leaned against the counter, sighing. "I _thought_ it was too quiet over there. It's not like Angel to not pop up to brood when I have a boyfriend. Guess he's busy... I haven't heard from him in a long time."

"Yeah... he's... busy. I'm sure Giles will fill us in."

Buffy turned her attention to her cereal, and Andrew's spine relaxed.

"Andrew?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever... well, this is kinda awkward, huh. But uh -- have you ever thought thought about some, uh, therapy?"

"I'm not the one having my shape-shifter boyfriend..."

"This isn't about that. Do you remember what you said when you walked in?"

"Uh... no..."

"You said, 'Spike, when did you get here?'... like, surprised, but oh-gosh-surprised, not 'holy crap, there's a dead vampire in Buffy's bed' kind of surprised."

"We Jedi control our emotions."

"Stuff it, Andrew. I think you haven't accepted that Spike and Anya are gone."

"_I_ haven't accepted? In case you haven't noticed, I'm not the one playing sick little dress-up games with..."  
  
"Fine. Fine, we'll drop it."

"Thank you." Andrew couldn't contain the leer. "So, this Immortal... he didn't happen to feed on Carrie Fisher around the time of 'Return of the Jedi', did he?"


	3. Who Watches The Watchers

"It's disrespectful, that's what it is."

Xander let out a heavy sigh, digging further into his bag of chips. "Kennedy -- not that I haven't enjoyed your little backseat monologue, or the angry flecks of spittle that landed in my hair while you gave it, but could you maybe shut it for five minutes?"

"All I'm saying is... if they're still keeping something this huge from her, what are they keeping from us?"

"You guys," Willow sighed, squeezing Kennedy's hand, "It is taking _all_ my concentration to keep us off the radar..."

"And this isn't exactly cruising through the park," Robin muttered, swerving hard to the left to avoid a car that had actually used the breakdown lane to break down, rather than drive at 150 miles an hour past the rest of the traffic.

"Look, Kennedy, until this morning, the Council thought Angel had gone to the other side. Spike could have been a deliberate trap for her... or maybe not even Spike at all, a shapeshifting demon..."

"Oh, no," Kennedy spat right back. "Let's not tell anyone that Spike's back, 'cause he might be a shapeshifting demon! But oh, it's perfectly okay if she _sleeps_ with a _known_ one!"

"Buffy's love life is her own business," Xander said primly.

"Oh, can I get you saying _that_ on tape?" Robin chuckled.

"Hey, until this morning, it looked like I was batting a thousand on my boyfriend disapprovals."

"It's not this morning anymore," Kennedy crossed her arms. "He _died_ for us. Y'know, _I_ might have liked to have known he was back. Could have bought him a cup of coffee or something."

Robin scowled. "Don't think they make O-positive lattes."

"Actually, they do, there's this little place in Santa Monica..."

"Willow, concentrate!"

"Look, you guys, there's something you're not thinking about," Robin swerved again. "This _can't_ be the real Spike, or at least not the Spike we knew. Better... worse... who knows... but not the same."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because, Xander, are you _seriously_ telling me that the Spike we all know and you guys love..."

"Hey, don't put _me_ in there!"

"Fine. The Spike you and I both have the good sense to hate magically comes back from the dead. And not only does he have his shiny-shiny BuffyBait soul, but he just sacrificed himself to save the world. You're telling me he wouldn't be using that lever to get into a certain pair of leather pants?"

"Who knows how long the time was where he went when he died? Maybe he got over her."

"Angel spent a years in a hell _she_ sent him to and didn't."

"Well, Spike's no Angel."

Robin banged the steering wheel. "Truer words, never spoken."

"He saved our lives!" Kennedy bellowed. "He saved the world! And none of us even sent a 'Hi, Spike, how's the new existence, how's work at the evil corporation' postcard! For all we know, he could have been pulled back against his will, used, abused, tortured..."

"I'd say if there was any torture, Spike was probably on the giving end," Robin said grimly.

"Fine. Spike's an ass. Whoo-ooo. Doesn't it bother _anyone_ but me that we're less in the loop than _Andrew_?"

"He's being trained to be a Watcher..."

Kennedy rolled her eyes. "What's the point of having eyes to 'watch' if they're not communicating with the rest of the body? All this cloak-and-dagger secret meeting mumbo-jumbo _bullshit_... we're supposed to be on the same side! Instead, we're getting shuffled all over the planet on these wild goose-chase missions... anyone think_ that's_ coincidence?"

"The Watchers are scrambling around, trying to deal with locating untold numbers of newly-activated Slayers... there's bound to be chaos..."

"They're splitting us up!"

"We're back together now, aren't we?"

"Without Buffy! Why in the _hell_ are we going into this thing without _Buffy_?"

"You guys are _ruining_ this road trip for me," Xander pouted, tipping the bag back to pour chip dust on his tongue.

"Road Trip?" Robin sputtered. "Xander, we're careening at suicidal speeds down the L.A. freeways to go battle a demon horde in aide of a bunch of other undead we _think_ are still good!"

"Yeah, well," Xander sighed, "I don't get out much."


	4. Merit Badges

Spike lunged to his left, plunging the scrap of sheet metal into the demon's side, rolling out of the way of the ax that thudded into the concrete where he'd been a moment before and rising sharply to head-butt another demon, kicking him in the chest when he stumbled backwards.

"Spike, catch!"

Spike flicked his eyes towards the sound of the voice. Brunette, rain-blurred...

... throwing a sword at him.

Spike dropped his metal scrap and caught it one-handed, flowing with his momentum to decapitate the demon attacking from the side.

"Thanks, Blue..."

"Hardly," a voice behind him scoffed... and Faith surged up, her blade whirling as she took out two more demons. "Drink this, I'll cover you."

A bottle slammed into his chest, and Spike caught it before it fell. The label said "Snapple", but he rather doubted that the dark red contents were fruit punch. Faith sent body parts flying around them as Spike raised the bottle to his lips.

Oh, god. Spice. Heat. Darkness... power. So much power. Spike threw the bottle down, gripping his sword with two hands, feeling the surge shoot through his muscles. He swung his blade.

"That was human blood." Two more demons crumpled to the ground. "Your blood."

"Yeah, well." A disembodied arm sailed out from Faith's direction. "I do all kindsa good shit now. Killin' demons. Blood donation."

"You're a regular Girl Scout." Spike feinted to the left, dodging an incoming horn.

"Fuck that, I'm the Troop leader. Even came here on a schoolbus..." Two demons detatched from their lower bodies, and Faith grinned. "... but you should see our merit badges."

Spike processed that a moment, sword still flying, allowing his hearing to focus on something besides the grunts of the demons. Feminine voices had added to the cacophony... shrieking, screaming... Slaying.

"Is..."

"She's not here, Spike, and she's not coming. Concentrate."

Spike faltered a moment, and took a club on the shoulder. Faith groaned, crunching her elbow into a demon's face.

"Put your self-pity back in your pants and kill shit. I don't have time to explain why."

"She's okay, though?" Spike yanked his sword out of a demon's chest and sent it straight into another one's side.

"Better than you!"

"Oh, _that's_ not saying a lot, under the circumstances... bloody _hell_, is that the sun coming up?"

The light in the alleyway was growing brighter by the moment, banishing shadows, seeming to come from everywhere...

"That's not the sun," Faith grinned, shoving her boot heel into a demon who'd been distracted by the growing brilliance. "That's Willow."

------------------

Andrew hefted his duffel bag, casting a longing glance at two little tropical-themed bars that flanked the terminal hallway. He was thirsty as hell, but he doubted the Watcher's Council would understand him stopping for a Smoothie.

He hailed a cab, tossing his bag inside, sliding in...

... and being violently pushed to the other side.

"You don't mind if I share?"

The hot brunette from the plane. He'd noticed her when she walked by to go to the bathroom... fabulous ass.

"Uh, normally I'd be really... well, you don't want to go where I'm going..."

"On the contrary." The brunette removed her sunglasses and glared.

"Oh, hey, Buffy," Andrew squeaked. "I, uh, I..."

"Tell the nice driver-man where to go, Andrew."

Andrew gave the instructions with a deep sigh, regarding Buffy fearfully. "That's a, that's a real nice color on you, it brings out your eyes..."

"Stuff it, Andrew. Where are we going?"

"Buffy, you are _not_ supposed to be here..."

"Yeah, I _caught_ that. You say a bunch of cryptic stuff about Angel being in trouble, then you get a phone call, then you tell me it was a false alarm but oh, you've gotta go meet some friends right now... with an overnight bag... how _stupid_ do you think I am?"

"I figured you'd be glad to get back to your big date with the Spike-Bot."

Buffy recoiled, stunned. "Don't call him that!"

"Why not? Same principle, isn't it?"

"It is not the same -- don't try to distract me! Where the hell are we going? Is Angel in trouble?"

"Angel..." Andrew sighed. "Okay. Um, Angel got put in charge of the L.A. office of Wolfram & Hart."

The color faded from Buffy's face. "He _what_? Is he Angelus again?"

"No, he's not. When I saw him a few months ago..."

Andrew trailed off, realizing his mistake. "Uh..."

"You saw Angel a few months ago? In Rome?"

"No, Angel was in Rome a couple weeks ago, this was when I was in L.A. Look, Buffy, there's something else you should know..."

"Angel was in Rome? You went to L.A.?"

"We're getting ahead of ourselves. Look, Angel started working for the big bad company, trying to do sort of a, y'know, infiltrate-from-within thing. But, uh, we didn't know that, or whether we could trust him..."

"And no one told me."

"Look, if Angel was Angelus and you knew it, you'd have run off to L.A. the first chance you got. We had... really good reasons... to suspect that Wolfram & Hart was trying to lure you there."

"What really good reasons?"

"They, uh, they sort of, uh, _made_ something that you, uh, would have been very interested in..."

"Some kind of weapon? What?"

"Uh, you could say that... look, I should start from the beginning, I..."

"Andrew, repeat something after me. 'When I am cryptic, Buffy crushes my windpipe.'"

Andrew gulped. "When I am cryptic, Buffy crushes my windpipe."

"Continue."

"Look, you had a semi-normal life for the first time in forever! Training Slayers, going out with your boyfriend, taking care of Dawn... Giles thought... see, okay, this is gonna shock you, but..."

"Oh, 'Giles thought'. _What_ a shock that it's _Giles_ trying to..."

"He thought you deserved the rest! And Buffy, you _needed_ it!"

"So you guys just let me... left me in a daydream, huh? Give little Buffy her pink plastic vacation in the pink plastic Buffy Dream House?"

"Giles said... he said they'd ripped you out of Heaven once... and there was another thing, Buffy, I really need to tell you..."

"Heaven?" Buffy snapped. "_Heaven_? Prancing around Rome with the Spike-Bot, feeling guilty, feeling useless... you call that _Heaven_?"

"You just called him the Spike-Bot."

"I did not!"

"Yes you did!"

The cab stopped and Andrew paid him, feeling Buffy's glare boring holes into the back of his neck as he dropped his duffel bag on the sidewalk, pulling weapons out.

"How in the hell did you get that on the plane?"

"Cloaking spell." Andrew held up an armful of sharp things. "Which do you want?"

"What are we fighting?"

"Massive demon horde."

"I don't see a massive demon horde."

"We only got a general location from Lorne. Willow will notice us in a minute and tell us where to go."

"Willow's here?"

"Willow, Xander, Faith, Robin, Kennedy, a slew of bussed-in potentials..."

"_Everyone_ knew about this but me."

"Well... you and Dawn..."

"Oh, now I'm in the same category as _Dawn_? Someone to get left out of the loop, locked away from the fights, for her own _protection_?"

"Well... maybe now you know how it made her feel." Andrew froze. "Buffy's here."

"I _know_ I'm here, you..."

"Willow says walk north, she's casting a brightness spell, we should be able to see it in a few blocks."

Buffy sighed heavily. "Gimme a sword."

They walked north, the sound of warfare growing louder. Buffy's jaw set into a determined line.

"Aww, I've missed that," Andrew sighed.

"Missed what?"

"Your 'about to kick some ass' face. It's _really_ adorable."

Buffy glared... then her eyes widened.

"Andrew."

"Yeah?"

"Dragon."

Andrew whirled. "Oh my god, that's _awesome_. Y'know, I wonder if Peter Jackson ever saw a real one, 'cause wow, his art team was right on the..."

"Andrew, it's headed right towards us."

"Y'know, now that I really think about it, the Uruk-hai bear a freakish resemblance to... what kind of demons they got in New Zealand?"

"Andrew! There's someone... _riding_ it! Stabbing it in the head!"

Andrew looked up. The dragon soared towards them, magnificently, majestically backlit by rays of Willow's brightness spell, nearly obscuring the identity of its black-clad rider, whose sword shone almost as brightly as the gleam of his bleached, platinum hairdo...

"And he said he didn't know how to make an entrance," Andrew chuckled.


	5. Colorful Makeovers

The dragon struggled closer, its massive shadow sweeping the pavement, wings beating erratically... flying in painful, stilted lurches that Andrew rather guessed had something to do with the sawing motion of Spike's sword through its neck. Dragon blood mixed with rain to paint a second line in the center of the street, smoking as it hit the puddles.  
  
They neared a rooftop and Spike threw his weight to the side, vampire and dragon rolling to crash land with a crunch of skidding gravel. Spike raised his sword, plunging it through the dragon's heart, and the creature gave a bellow of pain.  
  
_God_ he looked cool doing that! Andrew made a mental note to obtain a billowy black leather trenchcoat as soon as humanly possible.  
  
And some black fingernail polish.  
  
And maybe a cool-looking eyebrow scar.  
  
In a swirl of black leather, Spike ripped his sword out, turning and leaping, cat-like, from view, heading back towards the battle.  
  
"Oh, _badass_," Andrew moaned in an orgasm of fanboy bliss. "Buff, do you think I'd look good as a blonde?"  
  
"Spike," Buffy gasped, her sword clattering against the pavement as it sagged in her hand, anguish in her voice. "Oh, Andrew... that guy... looked _so much_ like Spike..."  
  
Andrew swallowed hard, his eyes on Buffy as she stared up at the rooftop that Spike had just vacated, emotions flying over her face: pain, confusion, disbelief... hope.  
  
"Buff," Andrew said gently, thinking about putting his hand on her shoulder and thinking better of it, "That, uh... that _was_ Spike."  
  
Buffy whirled on Andrew. "Don't be ridiculous."  
  
"That's what I kept trying to tell you... you kept interrupting me... see what happens when you people keep interrupting me?"  
  
She shook her head slowly. "He's dead. Dusted. _Gone_. I saw him in the Hellmouth, he was burning..."  
  
"Yeah, uh-huh, and how many times have you come back?"   
  
Buffy blinked, her hand rising to rake her drenched hair back from her face, processing. "How... but... Willow?"  
  
"Nah, it wasn't Willow, it was..."  
  
Andrew found himself slammed against the wet brick, her thumbs on his windpipe. "You, in Rome... you said... _'Spike, when did you get here?'_... you _knew_... how long have you known?"  
  
"Since I went to L.A." Andrew batted at her hand. "That's kinda ouchy, Buff..."  
  
The pressure increased. "Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"He made me promise not to!"  
  
Shock, immediately followed by hurt, flared through Buffy's eyes, her hand falling away from his throat as she stumbled back. "He... he did?"  
  
"Yeah." Andrew rubbed his neck, wincing. "Ever heard the phrase, 'don't strangle the messenger'?"  
  
"He didn't want me to know he was alive?" Buffy whispered.  
  
"You're crying?"  
  
Buffy glared. "It's _raining_."  
  
"Buffy... not to, y'know, get off-topic here, but... massive demon horde, fate of the world, y'know. Spike might die all over again..."  
  
"That," Buffy said, a fierce light growing in her eyes as she hefted her sword, "Is _not_ going to happen."  
  
----------  
  
"Killed yer dragon," Spike whispered gleefully into Angel's ear before slamming his sword through a demon's stomach.  
  
"I noticed that," Angel spat, his fist colliding with a demon's nose with a mighty crunch. "Just can't stop yourself from going after what I want, can you?"  
  
"Speaking of," Spike called over his shoulder, "She's not here."  
  
"I know," Angel grunted. "Xander told me."  
  
"So you asked," Spike smirked.  
  
"So did you!"  
  
Both vampires blinked and stepped back as a massive fireball exploded before them, pulverizing a crowd instantly.  
  
"Damn," Angel said appreciatively as he and Spike ran through the sudden clearing. "When did Willow get so powerful?"  
  
"Turned into a bit of a scary bint, Willow has," Spike smirked, his blade a blur. "Gives our li'l Blue a right run for her money, and just as fond of the sudden _colorful_ make-overs."  
  
No one without vampiric hearing could have heard Angel's next muttered words: "I really thought... when I saw all the Slayers, I really thought she'd..."  
  
"Y'know how it is, mate," Spike called. "Places to go, Immortals to do..."  
  
"So that's how it is," Angel sent demon heads flying, side-stepping a bolt of magical lightning. "She's not the only Slayer now, pressure off, she can go back to being a... _mall chick_..."  
  
"Peaches..." Spike's jovial tone had a razor-sharp edge. "I know you're a bit stressed, what with the imminent death and all, but if you ever insult Buffy again, I'll have your testicles hanging from my rearview."  
  
"You don't have a car."  
  
Spike shrugged. "I'll steal yours."  
  
Angel dodged another green electric flare. "You do that anyway."  
  
"It's good to have hobbies."  
  
----------  
  
"Xander," Willow gasped, convulsing again despite the death-grip he had on her from behind, "I'm almost out... it's time..."  
  
"Yeah, fine, fine..." Xander muttered into her hair, tightening his arms around her. "Just remember our deal... you use me as a big, goofy, one-eyed magical Duracell..."  
  
Willow laughed weakly, and Xander felt a powerful, stabbing tug as something inside him resisted, burst, and began to flow into Willow...  
  
"Ohhhhh," Willow moaned erotically, writhing in his arms. "You're _good_, you're so _good_..."  
  
Xander chuckled nervously. "It's, uh, cool if I replay this conversation later with a way different setting, right?"  
  
Willow didn't answer, a renewed burst of magic flowing from her fingertips, nearly blinding Xander in the eye he had left.  
  
Pain, yeah, that was good. Something to focus on besides the rather inappropriate noises Willow was making as she sucked... _pick a different verb, Xander!_... as she _extricated_ his power from his body.  
  
Xander's eye flew wide, fear thudding through his heart; Willow's hair was darkening.  
  
"Will, Will, you're going all evil on me, Will..."  
  
"Am not," she sighed, her nails digging into his arms where they held her. "Am going _you_..."  
  
Xander blinked. She was right; her hair hadn't gone black, but the same shade of brown as Xander's. With them this close together, you couldn't tell where he ended and she began...  
  
"Weird," Xander breathed, and closed his eyes as the sensations overcame him.  
  
----------  
  
"Holy crap," Robin whistled as a massive group of demons exploded in his face. "Looks like Willow got the second wind from hell."  
  
"She must have gone to backup power." Kennedy's blade flashed bright. "She's draining Xander now."  
  
"I thought she used you for that?"  
  
"Yeah, well. I can actually fight."  
  
Another group of demons exploded, blood filling the alleyway in a fine mist, revealing a group of startled, mid-attack Slayers blinking in confusion, standing in a slick red ring of emptiness.  
  
"How the hell'd she do that without hitting them?"  
  
"That's my girl," Kennedy said proudly.  
  
----------  
  
Buffy moved on auto-pilot, sword flying, legs kicking, arms punching, running on reflex. Demons went down, more demons surged to take their place in a never-ending supply; somewhere beyond the thudding of the adrenaline in her veins, Buffy was actually a little bit bored at the repetitiveness of it.  
  
Or would have been, if it hadn't been for the utterly distracting flow of her thoughts.  
  
Spike was here. Somewhere in this crowd, Spike was fighting alongside her. She couldn't see beyond the demons that surrounded her; he could be three feet away, or blocks.   
  
_And he didn't love her anymore._  
  
What had happened to him in the Hellmouth? She'd thought he'd died, but obviously he hadn't... how in the hell had he gotten out of the Hellmouth, out of the crater that was now Sunnydale?  
  
However it happened... he'd gotten out. And he hadn't come to her, had asked Andrew not to even tell her he was alive, didn't want to see her...  
  
_Well, good for him! He wasn't ever in love with me, he just had this gross sick obsession, it was unhealthy and freaky and, y'know, Spike-y, 'cause the guy is incapable of being anything but cranked up to eleven. It's good that he's over it, no, better than good, it's great! I'm really happy for him that he's made so much... progress._  
  
So why did she feel like she'd been staked?  
  
_Of course I'm upset. I'd feel upset if Anya had survived and didn't look any of us up... Spike was my friend, he was always there for me, he stood by me when no one else did... he understood me, and that's something I miss... so of course I'm a little bummed. A little. Not much._  
  
And once all these things were dead, she would see him. Could go up to him and punch him in the jaw for not calling her, could kick him in the chest, could grab him by that blinding sculpted plastic Ken hair and...  
  
_Except he's been fighting for hours in the rain. It won't be sculpted and plastic. It'll be wild and disheveled, the curl coming out, just like he looks after he's been..._  
  
Oh, so not going there. No, back to the kicking. Yeah, she'd kick him in the chest, and he'd get that fierce, wild joy in his eyes, and then she could grab him and throw her arms around him and press her face to his chest, feel the soothing cold of him through his t-shirt, breathe deeply the smells of smoke and leather and whiskey and male...  
  
_He's alive._ A choking sob ripped through her as she cleaved a demon in half.  
  
Well, not alive-alive, but, y'know, alive. For him. Comparatively speaking. And stuff.  
  
_And he didn't love her anymore._  
  
A searing pain shot through Buffy's side, and she looked up to meet the eyes of a demon, smiling triumphantly...  
  
Buffy stumbled backwards as a blinding flash of white light filled the alleyway, the raindrops hissing in her ears and turning to steam... a scream in her head, a scream that sounded like Willow, a scream that didn't sound like pain, a scream that sounded rather more like the kinds of noises she'd put her pillow over her ears to avoid when she had a room next to her and Tara...  
  
_What the hell?_  
  
Vision returned slowly... a spaced-out group of drenched people, chests heaving, weapons still in hand, staring at each other in confusion.  
  
Andrew, bleeding heavily from a cut on his forehead, clutching his stomach. Faith, wild-eyed and ready for more. Robin, looking vaguely ill and holding onto his bicep... Kennedy, sword over her shoulder, looking around frantically, disbelieving...   
  
Slayers, some she recognized, some she'd trained, many more she only recognized by the way they held themselves, the similarity she felt...  
  
And much further down the street, Angel. Buffy's heart skidded into her throat. His face was a mask of pain, and she wondered who he'd lost...   
  
And then Angel reached down, offering his hand... and pulled Spike to his feet.  
  
_Oh God, here comes another fight..._  
  
Buffy's eyes flew open, her breath stopping, as the two vampires threw their arms around each other...  
  
In a big, manly... hug?  
  
Before turning to face...   
  
Buffy's eyes narrowed.  
  
The woman moved like a cat, dressed in some sort of reddish-black leather bodysuit thing... like a Stormtrooper Slut. Blue streaks in her hair. Make that a _Goth_ Stormtrooper Slut.  
  
The woman said something, and Spike laughed aloud, his head thrown back. Angel merely smiled painfully. More words from the woman, and Spike crossed to her, touching her lightly on the shoulder, a look Buffy knew all too well on his face... reassuring Spike, consoling Spike. Spike's lips were moving, forming words she couldn't hear, but she knew that head-tilt, knew that little eyebrow flash, and something red, pulsing, and squirmy grew in Buffy's gut.  
  
_If he just called her 'pet', I'll grind her into dog food._   
  
The woman didn't smile, just looked at Spike like she wanted to eat him...  
  
_Familiar with that feeling..._  
  
And Buffy's heart lurched as Spike guided her back down an alleyway, whispering in her ear.  
  
_Oh, God. So that's why he didn't come find me._


	6. Cookie Dough

"We have to get out of here," Andrew gasped. "They'll be more... we need to get away... regroup..."  
  
"I'll go get Willow and Xander," Robin called, leaping on top of a dumpster to grab the edge of a fire escape.  
  
"Buffy, c'mon," Andrew said, tugging at her elbow. "Let's get on the bus..."   
  
Andrew trailed off, his eyes widening as he took in her blood-soaked shirt. "When did _that_ happen?"  
  
"It's not so bad..."  
  
But it was; when Buffy touched her fingers to it, they came away soaked in blood. She felt her legs swaying, felt arms catch her, hold her up briefly, pass her into stronger, colder arms that hefted her as if she weighed nothing.  
  
Her eyelids fluttered. Angel.  
  
"You came," he whispered.  
  
----------  
  
"I'm... sorry, Blue."  
  
Illyria stared blankly at the space where she had left Wesley's body, her small hands clenched into fists.  
  
"I will find where they have taken him, and I will destroy them."  
  
"Blue... it's not him anymore. You know that. It's a... shell. Nobody ought to know that better than you."  
  
"Human shells can be used." Illyria turned on Spike, smirking slightly. "Nobody ought to know that better than you, vampire."  
  
She advanced on him, blue fading until Fred circled him, her fingertips trailing across his shoulderblades. Spike closed his eyes, grimacing. "You know that something remains behind, don't you, _William_?"  
  
"Got it. Important to find the body. Now change the channel off 'The Fred Show', it's bloody well not right."  
  
"It distresses you to see me this way. Not as much as Wesley, but your distress is there."  
  
"Fred was an all right girl. Helped me out, or tried to. Didn't get the chance to return the favor, and it pisses me off."  
  
Illyria considered this a moment, morphing back into Blue Mode. "Very well. We shall find Wesley now."  
  
"Frankly, I'm a bit more worried about Gunn."  
  
"Why? The witch has healed him completely."  
  
"When?"  
  
"While we fought. Her power is impressive, for a human."  
  
"Well." Spike tried and failed to keep an almost paternal pride out of his voice. "How's about my little Will, then."  
  
He followed Illyria out into the rain. "Best make it quick; I don't think we want to hang around here, Blue."  
  
"Do you wish to tell Angel where we are going?"  
  
"Yeah, I suppose Peaches oughta..."  
  
Spike paused abruptly, raising his head, breathing deeply.  
  
"Small change of plans; we're goin' this way." Spike took off at a run, Illyria easily keeping pace.  
  
"You have smelled something."  
  
"Someone. Someone who's not supposed to be here."  
  
Spike stopped in his tracks, taking a step backwards.  
  
It was her, all right. Real and there and everything he'd ever wanted, sitting on Angel's lap, being held in Angel's arms, gazing into Angel's stupid fluffy puppy face, Angel's meaty man-paws stroking her hair, comforting her, protecting her.  
  
She'd dyed her hair brown. Looked bloody awful.   
  
Oh, who was he kidding.  
  
She looked fantastic.  
  
She always looked fantastic.  
  
"Right," Spike said gruffly, pulling his pack out of his pocket. "Right, then."  
  
"We are not going to Angel?"  
  
Spike finished lighting his cigarette, shoving his Zippo back into his jeans. "He's busy. So are we. Let's go find Wesley."  
  
"Perhaps we should --"  
  
"Look, Blue, he's got other things to deal with." Spike's lips curled into a snarl. "Cookies to take out of the oven."  
  
----------  
  
Gunn looked back at the alley, his jaw set in a line. "I don't like it."  
  
"We can't wait any longer," Angel sighed. "We've got wounded... this place will be full of demons again before we know it."  
  
"It's _Fred_, Angel."  
  
"No, she's _not_."  
  
"Well, what about Spike?"  
  
"I know he survived the battle," Angel shrugged. "He should have checked in by now, but..."  
  
Gunn scowled. "So we're just going to leave him."  
  
"I don't see that we have a choice."  
  
"But..."  
  
"Look, I don't like it either. But we'll lose a lot more people if we stay. We can't risk everyone for the crazy god who killed Fred and _Spike_."  
  
"Wouldn't have anything at all to do with a certain Slayer on the bus, would it?"  
  
Angel growled low in his throat. "No. It would not."  
  
"Fine." Gunn grabbed onto the handrail, swinging himself onto the schoolbus. "Just going on record as not liking it."  
  
"Duly noted," Angel grimaced, hauling himself up afterwards.  
  
The bus doors closed with a squeal of metal, and the bus began to move. Angel and Gunn dropped into a bench.  
  
"Fit a bit better on one of these when I was seven," Gunn groaned.  
  
----------  
  
"Y'know what?" Spike muttered as they vaulted a fence, "Cookies suck."  
  
"That is not consistent with my information."  
  
"No, y'know, y'see, what happens to cookies. You're a nice, baked-up bloody cookie, you're done. Nothing more to do -- 'cept get eaten. You don't grow, you don't change, you either mold and rot and die, or y'dissapear down someone's belly."  
  
Illyria cocked her head, giving Spike a queer look.  
  
"Y'wouldn't understand; haven't ever eaten a cookie, have you? Not as I have, recently, but..." Spike leaped over a trash barrel. "But y'know what's better than cookies, way better? Cookie dough. Y'eat it raw, right out of the little tube, with a spoon... maybe even with your fingers, standin' in front of the icebox, 'cause you're just too hungry to wait. Cookie dough is flexible. Cookie dough is promise and potential, the flavors are sharper, hell, it's got raw eggs in, it's even a bit dangerous. Cookie dough is..."  
  
"You are no longer speaking of cookie dough. This is a metaphor?"  
  
"She'll never be a cookie. S'not in her nature. That's the problem with her, Blue... she doesn't understand her nature. She's more like me than she knows."  
  
Spike hurled away his cigarette butt. "Nicer tits, though."  
  
"I do not believe I am the correct partner for you in this conversation. I do not understand what you are saying."  
  
Spike grinned impishly. "S'why I'm havin' it with you, Blue."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"See, that's the thing. S'why she hates me, Blue -- I remind her of herself, all those bits of her that scare the piss out of her. She doesn't like who she is, not really; she works too hard to keep Dawn from becoming her... when she's all the Nibblet wants to be. And that's why it bothers her that the Bit loves me."  
  
"I do not know who these people are."  
  
"See, Buffy thinks the Bit is her, UnSlayered. Innocent-like. She tries to keep her that way -- good bleedin' luck with that one, I say. Protectin' her, protectin' herself, this vision of herself. Buffy thinks she likes me 'cause of something they did to her, some darkness they installed when she was Called, that demony bit the cavey boys stuffed in the first Slayer... but the Bit proves her wrong, don'tcha see?"  
  
"I do not see."  
  
Spike stopped, sniffing the air again. "Left. It's getting stronger."  
  
----------  
  
Angel worked his way down the aisle, rocking back and forth with the bus' movement, heading towards the back, where Buffy lay, propped against Xander.  
  
"You're awake."  
  
"Yeah," she smiled weakly. "Just."  
  
"How you feeling?"  
  
"I'm better, a little. The bandage helped." Buffy struggled up against Xander, and he helped her up by her shoulders.  
  
"Glad to hear it."  
  
"Did I see you... hug Spike?"  
  
Angel's face flamed, his steadying hands digging into the padded seats. "Well, I... I mean... we've been working together almost a year, he's not so... I mean, I still hate him, I... I'm gonna go sit down."  
  
Buffy reached up, pressing her hand against Angel's chest. "Don't be like that."  
  
"Well, he's still an asshole, don't think he's changed, I..." Angel broke off, staring at Buffy's face. "Buffy, what is it?"  
  
"Angel..." she whispered. "Your heart."  
  
Angel looked down at her hand. "Yeah?"  
  
"It's... beating."


	7. Gilligan's Isle

_"Your heart... it's... beating."  
  
_Angel froze, his brain stretching to encompass her words, his gaze flying downward to Buffy's hand on his chest. "You're... mistaken."  
  
"It's faint... really faint," Buffy whispered, her eyes holding his, the truth in them, taking his own hand and pressing it where hers had been. "But... _feel_."  
  
If he'd been human, he'd have said he was dying... the heartbeat was faint, irregular, barely registering against the warmth of his palm...  
  
_Warmth of his palm??_  
  
Gunn appeared at his side, soft wonder in his voice. "Angel, the Shanshu Prophecy..."  
  
"I... I signed it away," Angel muttered, still staring blankly, his palm pressed to his own chest. "I _signed it away_... this can't be happening..."  
  
Gunn stepped back. "You did _what_?"  
  
"Had to," Angel coughed. Something in his chest hurt like hell. "Signed a paper..."  
  
"You _signed off_ on a _prophecy_?" Xander blurted. "Damn, I wish _we'd_ been able to do that. Here you go, Dawn, here's a pen, now Buffy doesn't have to die and we can all order pizza..."  
  
Suddenly, Xander experienced something very new and different...  
  
People staring at him as if he'd said something brilliant.  
  
"He's right," Willow said. "What kind of _prophecy_ can you just... sign off on?"  
  
"I wasn't signing it _off_ so much," Angel gasped, "I thought I was signing it _over_..."  
  
"You signed the prophecy over to _Spike_," Gunn said in disgust. "After all we went through, how badly you wanted it..."  
  
"Maybe that was what he had to do," Willow said quietly. "Give it up to get it..."  
  
Buffy's eyes flicked from one face to another, each sentence deepening her confusion.  
  
"It's stronger... the heartbeat... and this..." Angel gave a little goofy half-smile, sitting down heavily on the padded bench, "This is starting to hurt like a son of a bitch."  
  
Xander peered at him. "So what, you're like... dying in reverse?"  
  
"Maybe," Angel gasped as another stabbing pain bent him over.  
  
"Try to vamp out," Willow suggested, flinching a little when they all whipped around to stare at her. "What? Like an experiment."  
  
Gunn nodded. "Not a bad idea."  
  
Angel closed his eyes, concentration taking over his face...  
  
"Oh, that's no good," Willow said. "You just look constipated... oooh! Caught a flash of forehead..."  
  
"Don't think I'm pissed off enough," Angel laughed weakly.  
  
"Told you we shouldn't have left Spike behind," Gunn laughed, not catching the shocked look from Buffy.  
  
"Need to get pissed, huh?" a smile slid across Xander's face. "Keep your eyes closed..."  
  
Xander leaned over Buffy to get closer to Angel, his lip curling upwards. "What's wrong, Peaches, ya great beefy ponce? Turnin' human, eh? Good thing I got that bloody chip out, then -- bein' undead won't be _any_ fun if I can't kick yer ass properly..."  
  
Angel's eyes flickered yellow, his forehead ridging slightly. "Didn't know you did impressions, Xander."  
  
"Lots of things you don't know about me, Dead Boy." Xander caught Angel's glare and laughed. "C'mon, I _had_ to. I'm not going to be able to call you that in, what, an hour or so?"  
  
"Is that as vamp as you can go?" Willow asked.   
  
"Looks like."  
  
"Wow," Willow said softly. "You're really -- wow."  
  
"How's the heartbeat?" Gunn asked.  
  
"Stronger."  
  
"How's the pain?"  
  
"Worse." Angel groaned. "I didn't think it would be like this... I thought there'd be, like, some blinding flash of light, and then, bam, y'know, I'd be a..."  
  
"You'd be a real boy?" Gunn finished.  
  
Angel glared. "Xander's impression was better."  
  
Gunn looked confused, and Angel sighed. "Spike. That's what he always said about the prophecy. Us turning into 'real boys', y'know, like Pinocchio..."  
  
Another coughing spasm doubled Angel over, and he clutched at the seat.  
  
"What is this Moo Shu prophecy, anyway?" Xander asked.  
  
"Shanshu," Gunn corrected. "It's about a vampire with a soul that gets turned human again for services rendered to mankind."  
  
"And you signed _that_ over to _Spike_?" Xander said in disgust.  
  
"Guys," Willow said suddenly, "It didn't specify _which_ vampire with a soul?"  
  
"No," Angel gasped, "That's why I could sign it over..."  
  
"Did it specify _just one_?"  
  
"I don't..." Angel looked at Gunn, who shrugged. "I don't think it was very specific about that..."  
  
Willow paled. "So... Spike could be out there turning human as we speak? With, like, no one to help him, and the demons coming back?"  
  
"Well, he's got Illyria..."  
  
"Is _that_ Goth Stormtrooper Slut's name?" Buffy snapped.  
  
"Yeah, Illyria'll be a big help," Angel laughed weakly. "Regular Florence Nightingale. Be about as nice to him as she was to Fred, I bet..."  
  
"Who's Fred? Who's Illyria?"  
  
"Long story." Angel reached in his coat pocket, pulling out his cellphone. "I'm gonna try Spike again."  
  
------------  
  
"Hang on a sec, Blue, pocket's gone all happy." Spike dug into his jeans, pulling out the cellphone and examining the readout.  
  
Angel. Called to gloat, no doubt. Perfect.   
  
Spike flipped the phone open. "Puppy, you _know_ I enjoy it too much when you make my pocket do that... reminds me of that night in Venice..."  
  
"Look, there's something I wanted to..."  
  
"Ah," Spike kicked a trash can across the alley, and Illyria raised her eyebrows. "The happiest boy in the world, eh? Got what you always wanted? Accept my _heartfelt_ congratulations."  
  
A pause. "So you... but you know? How did you..."  
  
"Smelled it on ya, mate. Thrilled for ya, I am. Wish you a long and happy life, fa-la-la, et cetera."  
  
"I guess you would be... able to smell it, I mean..."  
  
"Bloody right, still a vampire, ain't I? Know _that_ smell anywhere."  
  
"Spike, for what it's worth... I'm sorry. I know you won't believe this, but... I... I wish it could have happened for both of us."  
  
Spike leaned against a wall, taking a deep, unnecessary breath, forcing his voice to remain steady. "Now, Peaches. That's just _kinky_. You _know_ how bad we are at sharing..."  
  
"Is that why you didn't come back?"  
  
"I've not gone off to have a bloody sulk, if _that's_ what you're gloating about. Blue and I have a bit of unfinished business."  
  
"Look, Spike, we're all headed for a safe place. Why don't you and Illyria come meet us there..."  
  
"Thanks, mate, but I've never been one for the big sodding group hug..."  
  
"Spike, Buffy's here, she wants to talk to you... I'm going to pass the phone over..."  
  
Spike smashed the "end" button, rearing back and hurling the cellphone against the wall, the satisfaction of watching it explode to pieces a nanosecond's balm for pain.  
  
"Why did you do that?" Illyria asked softly.  
  
Spike closed his eyes, sighing heavily. "I can't..."  
  
"You have grief."  
  
"Eh..." Spike pushed himself off the wall, shrugging his coat into place. "Lost another girl to the poof. Story of my sodding unlife, that. Poof always had this one, though. Kiddin' myself otherwise. I was just her big, vampy blow-up doll, and now she's got the real thing."  
  
"This female is the cookie dough?"  
  
"I'm happy for her. Well, most of me is. The bits that don't want to punch things."  
  
Spike kicked the broken plastic shards with the toe of his boot.  
  
"That's the ass-kicker, innit? Hurt less when I bloody exploded in the Hellmouth, and I'm _happy_ for the bint. Love's a funny thing..."  
  
Spike's eyes widened at something over Illyria's shoulder. "... Innit that right, _Wesley_?"   
  
Illyria whirled.  
  
"That's very accurate, Spike." Wesley said quietly. "Very accurate."  
  
"So what are you now, then?" Spike called. "Last we heard, walkin' around wasn't a current ability of yours, so give us a clue; hard to kill you again, otherwise."  
  
"I... don't know what I am. I thought I was me, but I remember..." Wesley looked at Illyria in utter misery. "I remember dying."  
  
Wesley sighed, his head drooping. "I... I thought I'd be with Fred."  
  
"No evil mastermind bellowin' 'it's alive'?" Spike lit a cigarette. "That does make it puzzlin'; usually they like to stick around and have a nice cackle."   
  
"Not unless it was her..." Wesley looked around the bend of the alley. "You can come out, I know them, it's okay..."  
  
Soft footsteps.  
  
"Not to contradict you, mate, but I wouldn't say anyone here qualified for 'okay'... you've got a vamp, a god-thing, and whatever the bloody hell you..."  
  
"Spike?"  
  
The cigarette tumbled from Spike's lips. "Bit?"  
  
She pounced on him in a whirl of silky brown hair and Love's Baby Soft, arms and legs wrapping around him. "Spike, I thought you were dead, I missed you so much, I missed you so much..."  
  
Spike circled her with his arms, breathing her in deeply. "Bit, I missed you too."  
  
She pulled back, grabbing his collar in both hands, staring at him. "If you ever leave me again, I'll fucking stake you. Slowly."  
  
"Nibblet! Language!"  
  
But Spike was laughing, raising his hand to brush her hair away from her face. "Lookit you, Bit... you're huge and girly."  
  
Dawn raised an eyebrow naughtily. "And _legal_."  
  
"Aw, gerroff," Spike groaned, unwrapping her legs from around his waist and setting her back down on the concrete. "If your sister heard you, they'd be sweepin' me up."  
  
But he couldn't stop grinning. "Well, aren't we a right group. Body hijackers anonymous. The mystic key, the big blue god, the ensouled vamp, and whatever the fuck Wesley is... here on Gilligan's Isle."  
  
"Spike, you watch _way_ too much TV."  
  
------------  
  
"I got a dial tone," Buffy said softly, passing the cellphone back to Angel. "I think he hung up."  
  
"Probably lost signal," Angel groaned, clutching his side. "Well, at least we know he's not Shanshuing in the middle of a demon horde."  
  
"He's all right?"  
  
"He sounded fine. He's still a vampire... said he was with Illyria..."  
  
"Do you want me to do a locator spell?" Willow offered. "Be good to know where he is, we'd know if he got into trouble..."  
  
"Willow, you _have_ to be drained..."  
  
"I'm not, actually. I've never felt more all charged-up." Willow bit her lip. "Especially if, uh, Xander wouldn't mind..."  
  
"_I'll_ be your battery, honey," Kennedy laid her hand on Willow's shoulder. "I'm not swinging a sword at the moment."  
  
"Well, I mean... I mean, sure, sweetie, but you _just_ fought a battle, y'know? And, uh... I don't want to drain you if something, um, jumps us..."  
  
"Oh, yeah, 'cause I'm useless," Xander said irritably. "Look, I may be cyclops-boy, but that doesn't mean I'm not good for anything but _draining_..."  
  
"Do you feel drained?" Willow said gently, looking into his eyes.  
  
"No, I... I don't feel drained at all, I..."  
  
_Why was Willow looking at him like that?_  
  
Willow brushed a piece of her hair back, giving him a funny little smile. "So it's okay?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I guess, I guess it's..." Xander's words trailed off into a gutteral moan as Willow grabbed his hand, that rush flooding through him, his back arching...  
  
"Mega-gross, Xander, you're _humping_ me!" Buffy squealed, whipping around to face him. "And your... your hair is turning red..."  
  
Buffy whipped around to face Willow, whose head was thrown back, soft gasps coming from her throat. If Buffy didn't know better, she'd think she was...   
  
Well, she did know better, and she still thought she was.  
  
"What the hell is happening to them?" Gunn gasped.  
  
Kennedy's face grew darker by the second, staring at Willow and Xander's linked hands like she really wished she were still carrying her sword.  
  
------------  
  
In the alleyway, Spike clutched his head and dropped to his knees, screaming.  
  
------------  
  
"Too much," Willow gasped. "Too much, overkill, too much, can't control it, too much..."  
  
"What do we do?"  
  
Willow moaned, struggling up in her seat, reaching for her and Xander's entwined hands. "_My soul is wrapped in harsh repose..._"  
  
"What kind of spell is she doing?" Gunn demanded.  
  
"_Midnight descends in raven-colored clothes..._"  
  
"That's not a spell," Angel's chuckle turned into a racking cough. "That's William the Bloody awful poetry..."  
  
"_But soft... behold! A sunlight beam..._"  
  
"What's she doing?" Gunn watched as Willow clawed at her own hand.  
  
"I think she's trying to separate them," Kennedy said. "Let me."  
  
Kennedy grabbed for Willow and Xander's hands, attempting to pull them apart.  
  
"Yeah, before she gets to the bulging bit, please," Angel laughed.  
  
Kennedy finally snapped the hand-lock, flinging their hands away with such force that Xander's fist slammed into Buffy's cheekbone.  
  
"Ow!"  
  
"Sorry, Buffy," Xander put his hand on her shoulder. "Crappy day, huh? Punched by me, stabbed by a demon..."  
  
"Yeah, which still hur..." Buffy stopped, putting her hand to her side. "Which hurts not at all."  
  
She pulled up her shirt, running her fingers over the blood-crusted, but smooth skin. "Willow, did you heal me?"  
  
Willow shook her head, disoriented. "No I didn't, pet. Meant to later, but..."  
  
"Did you just call me 'pet'?"  
  
Willow blinked. "No."  
  
"Yes, you did."  
  
Xander looked uncomfortable. "Buffy, I... I think _I_ might have healed you."  
  
"Oh, what, with your magic back-humping action of regeneration? Never sitting next to you on the bus again."  
  
"No, I... I was thinking about how hurt you were..."  
  
"This is too weird. Xander, you can't do magic."  
  
"I _know_ I can't, but..."  
  
"Look," Gunn interrupted. "Did you locate Spike? Did the spell work?"  
  
"It worked too well, I think," Willow sighed, rubbing her temples. "I have the headache from hell. But yeah, I know where he is. Or at least... I know what it looks like. And he's okay. Actually, he's happy."  
  
"You can tell he's _happy_ from a locator spell?"  
  
"Dawn's here, Buffy. She's in the alleyway with him and Illyria and Wesley."  
  
Buffy opened her mouth, but Gunn cut her off. "Well, there you have it, Willow. The spell didn't work. He can't be with Wesley... Wesley's dead."  
  
Willow sighed. "Well, if he was... he's not anymore. Spike just talked to him."  
  
"What do you mean, _Dawn's_ here?" Buffy demanded.  
  
"I don't know how, Buffy, but she is. She just pretty much tackled Spike and gave him a hug... it's what he's happy about. It's the only thing he's happy about. God, he's so sad..."  
  
"All right, that's it," Buffy demanded. "I don't know what's going on, but stop the bus, let me off. I'm going to get them."  
  
"Well, isn't this usually the part where you kick me in the head and run out, virtue fluttering?" Willow said.  
  
Buffy froze. "_What_ did you just say?"


	8. Unpleasant Feelings

_"... chip out..."  
  
_Spike's eyelids fluttered open, Dawn's worried face filling his field of vision. His head was cradled in her lap, her fingertips tracing the scar at his eyebrow, the rest of him sprawled across the concrete...  
  
"How... how long was I out, Bit?"  
  
"A minute or so... Spike, I thought you got the chip out..."  
  
"Wasn't the sodding chip." Spike touched his temples, wincing. "Chip's been gone a while; never felt like _that_, anyway..."  
  
Wesley took a step forward. "Do you want me to..."  
  
"Uh-uh, mate." Spike rolled off Dawn's knee, raising himself up and putting down a hand to haul Dawn to her feet. "Still waitin' for you to grow horns or fangs or chant in Latin while your head spins 'round. You can stay bloody well over there."  
  
"He was really nice to me," Dawn said helpfully.  
  
"Well that's lovely, Bit, I'll keep it in mind." Spike glanced around the alley, sighing. "This is just fantastic. Like that bloody boat riddle."  
  
"Boat riddle?"  
  
"You've got animals and a boat, you've got to get 'em all 'cross a river without 'em eatin' each other, can't remember which ones eat the other bits... think one was a sheep, maybe. Not important. What's important is, _she's_ an evil god-thing, _he's_ a god-only-knows-what, but... probably evil, 'cause that's just how this sort of thing seems to work out, right? And I don't want either of them out of my sight _or_ anywhere near you, which makes gettin' you back to Buffy a wee bit tricky, y'see?"  
  
"I'm _eighteen years old_," Dawn huffed. "I don't _need_ to be returned to _Buffy Base_ every time I _wander off_. I got here all by myself, didn't I?"  
  
"That's right, you did." He cocked his head. "And how'd _that_ happen, exactly?"  
  
"Well, maybe if you guys hadn't spent years _ditching_ me, I wouldn't have such a finely tuned sense of when it was happening..." Dawn crossed her arms defensively. "And I might eavesdrop less."  
  
"We might've _ditched_ you less if you hadn't been Big Bad du jour's victim o'choice every sodding time, Bit... bloody hell, as many times as you've damseled in distress, we might as well have put you in a red shirt and sent you down with the first away team."  
  
"_Too_ much TV, Spike. _Way_ too much TV." Dawn grinned wickedly, and the resemblance to her sister sent an ache through him. "Besides, 'Damsel in Distress'? That's Xander's job. _I_ kick ass now."  
  
"Oh, y'do, eh?" Spike grinned. "Right. Y'know, that bit about the ass-kickin' would be a sight more menacin' if y'didn't _bounce_ on your _toes_ while y'said it, luv."  
  
"Been training," Dawn pouted. "With Faith, when she's around. It's, uh, kind of on the down-low, okay?"  
  
"_Is_ it, then. Explains the more... colorful additions to your vocab, I suppose." Spike eyed her critically. "_And_ your wardrobe... I don't suppose your sister's put her okay on your new little hobby, has she?"  
  
"You won't tell her, will you?"  
  
"Buffy and I aren't... well... we haven't exactly been... pen pals."  
  
Something strange crossed Dawn's face. "You, uh... haven't talked to Buffy?"  
  
"Don't think she knew I was alive until today."  
  
"Well," Dawn grinned, touching his sleeve. "I guess I don't have to punch her for not telling me, then."  
  
"All the same, Bit, things are dangerous, and you..."  
  
"I'm _very_ fast."  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure you're a regular..." Spike froze, looking downward. "That pointy little unpleasant feeling in my chest... that's you with a stake pressed to me, eh?"  
  
"Told you I was fast." Dawn put the stake back in her coat pocket. "Anyway, I smell demons. Hot-wire a car or something, let's get the hell out of here."  
  
"Nibblet." Spike's disappointment shone. "Your Uncle Spikey raised you better than _that_."  
  
"Let's get the hell out of here... _please_?"  
  
"_That's_ m'girl."  
  
---------------------  
  
"_What_ did you say?" Buffy repeated, staring at Willow.  
  
"I said I think it's too late to stop the bus... we're almost an hour out of town, aren't we?"  
  
"Willow... that's... that's _not_ what you said. You said..." Buffy fought down a blush. "You said a-a thing someone said to me... that I _never_ told anyone about. And you said it word-for-word."  
  
Willow leaned back against Kennedy, letting out a little sigh. "I guess -- I guess maybe I did? My brain is... all jumbly and full... I feel weird, pet..."  
  
"There! There it is! You just called me 'pet' again!"  
  
Angel, watching the proceedings with interest, sat up painfully. "Willow? What was the first thing I ever said to you?"  
  
Willow bit her lip, thinking. "You said, uh, 'Darla and I had a little spat.'"  
  
"Hell of a 'locator spell'," Angel grimaced, lying back again. "Remind me not to piss you off."  
  
Buffy's nose scrunched in Angel's direction. "When did you talk to Willow about Darla? I don't remember..."  
  
"That's the first thing I ever said... to _Spike_," Angel groaned. "Course, I called him 'Willy' back then..."  
  
"You called _Spike_... _Willy_?" Xander beamed.  
  
Angel grinned. "Called him a lot of things. Not many of them were polite. Maybe we should compare notes sometime."  
  
"Liking Dead Boy more and more, Buff," Xander laughed. "So Will, what'd you do, suck Spike's brain out? And if so, may I say, _bravo_."  
  
"Angel," Gunn said. "Your, uh... your nose is bleeding a little there..."  
  
"Oh?" Angel touched it experimentally, his hand coming away red. "Damn, uh... anyone got a kleenex? I haven't gotten one of these in a few centuries, do I lean forward or back? I can't ever remember..."  
  
"Uh... Angel?" Kennedy said in horror. "You might want to try forward... over a bucket..."  
  
"What, I..." Angel looked down at his blood-soaked shirt. "What the..."  
  
He raised his hand to his mouth, and it came away bloody; Angel spat blood into his palm, staring at it in confusion.  
  
"When you make a vampire, doesn't the human blood get replaced with vampire blood?" Xander asked. "Maybe it's... uh... leaving... _quickly_..."  
  
"That bucket might not be a bad idea," Angel gasped.  
  
"Yeah, we forgot the bucket. Can you believe us? Who comes to the apocalypse without a _bucket_? Don't worry, next time, _top_ of the checklist..."  
  
"Xander," Angel groaned, curling into a ball, "Have I mentioned how much I _haven't_ missed you?"  
  
---------------------  
  
Buffy paced down the cave tunnel, the sound of her heels echoing through the damp cavern. "How come our 'safe places' are never the Ritz Carlton? How come we always end up in these creepy, warded, templey..."  
  
A soft voice, Willow's: "Talking to me?"  
  
Buffy whirled. "Hey, Will. And, no. Talking to myself, I... thought I was alone. Needed some quiet, y'know, after the whole screamy-chaos-Angel-blood-transfusion-bus-hoedown."  
  
"How's he doing?"  
  
"Asleep." A small smile touched Buffy's lips. "And _snoring_."  
  
"And now we know the _real_ reason you're undeadsexual."  
  
Buffy smiled. "Not needing to breathe _does_ come in handy sometimes..."  
  
"I can certainly think of some times," Willow chuckled.  
  
"Willow!"  
  
"You'd think the prophecy people would have been nice enough to give him human blood of his own," Willow mused, touching the small band-aid at her inner elbow. "I mean, what would have happened to him if he hadn't been with a busful of donors? And you know what else? I wonder what blood type he's going to end up as? I mean, he's got like, ten different people in him..."  
  
"Dunno. I guess he'll be an... exotic blend." Buffy leaned against the cave wall. "So how come you're all... skulking around?"  
  
"I actually, I... well, don't laugh, but I came out here to smoke," Willow said over the sound of striking flint. "Stupid childproof lighter, though... you'd think I could destroy the world, I could work one of these things..."  
  
Buffy froze. "Will, you don't smoke."  
  
"Yeah, I know. I got this from Faith. I thought I'd have one. Don't worry; just one."  
  
A flare in the darkness; Willow sighed, her face barely lit by the ember. "Oh _yeah_. Still good."  
  
"_Still_?"  
  
"Well, in a way, I've been smoking for what, eighty years or so?" Willow grinned goofily. "Can't expect a girl to quit just like that."  
  
Buffy took a step towards her. "Willow... we didn't really get to talk, what with Angel puking gallons of vamp blood on us and Giles with the freaking and the transfusioning and the, y'know, but, uh... this little, uh, Spike Attack you had?"  
  
"Don't worry," Willow said, taking a deep drag. "I didn't suck Spike's brain out."  
  
"Well, that's... good, I guess..."  
  
"I think I sort of... _downloaded_ him," Willow mused.  
  
"You... you _what_?"  
  
"Downloaded him, y'know? Like from a web server. The server still has the data, only now I have it too. Well, I did. It's fading fast, but... did you know he was at Woodstock?"  
  
"Yeah, I... I did. Skip back to the downloady bit..."  
  
"His memories." Willow tapped ashes onto a rock. "Like I said, it's fading now, but... it was kinda cool."  
  
"'Kinda cool'. Remembering a century of soulless evildoing was 'kinda cool'?"  
  
Willow laughed gently. "It's not like _that_. It's just... flashes. It's like any memory, y'know? They're not all in your mind at once. Well, they were in his, when he was in the basement, but... well. Getting your soul is pretty _majorly_ unfun, as I recall."  
  
"You... you remember getting his soul?"  
  
"Oh, yeah. That memory's _really_ strong. Y'know, for a Big Bad, he sure does end up on the receiving end of the torture a lot, huh? Angel, Dru, Darla, Glory, The First, the African Soul-People, you..."  
  
"Hey," Buffy stammered. "He-he _asked_ me to do that stuff..."  
  
"Beat him to a pulp and tell him he had no good in him?"  
  
Buffy paled. "No-no, other stuff."  
  
"Yeah, I remember some of that," Willow nodded. "The memories with a lot of emotion connected to them are a lot stronger, y'know? I think that's why I remember the recent stuff better. The century of soulless evildoing didn't make as much of an impression. He didn't get any more emotional about the victims than you do dusting vamps, y'know? Bit of excitement during the hunting and the fighting and the killing, but nothing that stuck. They're the enemy, you kill 'em, end of story, all blurred together... I mean, it'd be like me trying to remember every time I ate chicken."  
  
"We're talking about _human beings_, Willow..."  
  
"Yeah. Food. For him, not me. I mean... I'm sure chickens think _we're_ the Big Bad..."  
  
"Are we talking about the memories of a hundred-year-old master vampire, or you becoming a vegan?"  
  
"That would be hard, I _really_ like cheese... but now that you..."  
  
"Willow!"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Back to the point, please?"  
  
"I had a point?"  
  
Buffy groaned. "Look, Andrew told me that the reason they were keeping me in the dark about all this is because Wolfram & Hart _made_ something the Watchers thought was a trap for me... does Spike know what the trap is?"  
  
"Buffy... the thing Wolfram & Hart 'made' was Spike himself."  
  
"I don't... I don't understand."  
  
"Spike _died_, Buff. Dusted in the Hellmouth. And then woo-oo mysterious, that amulet reappears to Angel, ghost-but-not-Spike comes out of it..."  
  
"Spike's a ghost? I saw him fight a dragon, he was definitely with the corporeal form..."  
  
"He is _now_. And none of it's been explained, none of it. Why would the Big Bad want Spike back? That _can't_ be good... who brings the person who defeated you back from the dead to do it again?"  
  
"So... what is Spike now? Is he a trap?"   
  
"Maybe? Look, I'd tell you if I could, but Spike doesn't know himself. I don't... I don't think he is. As far as he knows, he's the same."  
  
A grin of relief spread over Buffy's face. "_That's_ why Spike didn't call me, or come see me. _That's_ why... he was _protecting_ me..."  
  
"Uhm..." Willow sighed. "I don't..."  
  
"It makes perfect sense!"  
  
"Um, sure, but... Buffy... I don't think that's all of it..."  
  
"He still has his soul, right?"  
  
"Definitely still does, yes..."  
  
"Then Giles was right. Dawn's safer with him."   
  
"Uh... what?"  
  
"When we got here, and I was all leaving again, to go get Dawn..."  
  
"I did wonder why you were still here..."  
  
"Giles said that _we_ were the Big Bad's main target, all smooshy in the caves like this. Hundreds of Slayers, you with the witchery, Watchers, all of Angel's team except Spike and Goth Stormtrooper Slut..."  
  
"Is that what you're calling Fred?"  
  
"Goth Stormstrooper Slut's name is _Fred_?"  
  
"Yes. Well, no. It was. Actually, it was _Winifred_..."  
  
"Wow. Stirrings of pity for Stormtrooper Slut..."  
  
"She's not really Fred anymore. She's this god-thing, Illyria..."  
  
"Spike's new honey is Glory Redux? And I thought he'd hit rock-bottom with Harmony."  
  
"Actually, speaking of Harmony..." Willow closed her mouth, reconsidering. "Nevermind. The main thing is, Illyria's not his, uh, honey. He's friends with her, sort of. He _was_ friends with Fred... it's... complicated."  
  
"Oh, well, _that's_ a big change from the norm. Everything in our lives is always _so_ simple..." Buffy sighed, crossing her arms. "At least Dawn's safer than we are. If Spike has his soul, he'd die to protect her."  
  
"Y'know," Willow said carefully. "He would have _before_. The soul, I mean. Buffy, you're... you're _really_ hung up on this soul thing..."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Willow took another drag off her cigarette. "I just think, well... I don't think you can measure Spike with the Angel yardstick."  
  
"Meaning?"  
  
"Angel... made it look simple. Angel with a soul equals good; Angel without a soul equals big, big bad. But Spike was becoming a good person... creature... thing, um, way before he ever got a soul. Doesn't that... kinda say something?"  
  
"A good person? Willow, he tried to _rape_ me!"  
  
"You're not going to like what I'm about to say," Willow replied quietly.  
  
"No, I'm not, I can tell by your voice. Say it anyway."  
  
"Buffy... I'm _not_ saying that he should have done that, or excusing it, or anything. I'm not saying that at all. But I don't think it's a big hammer-thing that smashes anything good he did before it happened... any more than the soul he got later magically transforms him into Angel The Blonde."  
  
"Did I say that?"  
  
"Not in so many words, no..." Willow sighed. "But you didn't believe in anything good he did without a soul... and he got magically forgiven for everything once he got one, 'cause you didn't even really see him as the same person. I just think maybe you're... oversimplifying."  
  
"Look, Willow, I'll admit, I was confused too... I mean, Spike really did seem to be turning good or whatever. But then he..."  
  
"Look, all I'm saying is... even taking that incident at face value..."  
  
"Face value? What's that supposed to mean? What value are you taking it with? Willow, you weren't there."  
  
"Buffy?" Willow tapped her forehead. "Yes, I _was_. And this is going to piss you off, but..."  
  
"I'm already pissed off. Spit it out."  
  
"You insulting him, telling him no, telling him you could never love him, yelling at him to get off you, him having to grab you and wrestle you down and stuff... that was, like, _foreplay_ for you guys. And every other time he did that, you ended up all nakedy and screaming his name, in the good way."  
  
"So what, I _asked for it_?" Buffy screeched. "Shouldn't have worn such a slutty _bathrobe_? Willow, you of all..."  
  
"Buffy. I wish it hadn't happened to you. I know it was horrible a-and bad and _wrong_ and my point here is, _so did Spike_. When he realized you really didn't want it, that you weren't just doing your usual 'no-no-get-off-no-no-oh-yes-yes-yes' thing, what did he do?"  
  
"Well -- he left, y'know, upset."  
  
"Yeah. How many _rapists_ do you know who are all 'Oh golly, sorry, I'll just be leaving then' when they realize the girl's not into it?"  
  
"Willow, that doesn't matter, he still..."  
  
"He felt horrible, Buffy. He felt so much remorse, he went out and made sure he could never ever do it again. Do you understand that, Buffy? Remorse? A soulless demon, gettin' his remorse on... the implications are..."  
  
"I _know_ what the implications are, Willow. Do _you_? Willow, I've spent most of my life dusting vampires on sight, on the basic premise that they're eeeeevil. If I had to sit down with each one and determine exactly where they are on their spiritual journey of personal growth..."  
  
"So... basically, you're using this one incident with Spike to invalidate every good thing he did before he got his soul, huh?"  
  
"Will... look. It's _intent_. Spike did some really nice stuff, sure, but he did it to get in my pants... part of his whole sick little Slayer-obsession thingie. I'm not knocking Spike-with-a-soul at all, but Spike-with-no-soul was..."  
  
"Are you not listening to me _at all_? You can't draw a _line_ down him like that, Buffy! Even without his soul, he did all kinds of good stuff when he knew you would never find out!"  
  
"Practice."  
  
"What?"  
  
"He was practicing. Y'know, for doing the good, to get in my pants."  
  
"Wow, huh -- you have a _really_ high opinion of your pants." Willow hurled her cigarette aside. "Buffy. Do you consider black-haired veiny Willow to be a part of me?"  
  
"Of course not."  
  
"And why not?"  
  
"You're _Willow_. You're _good_. The black hair thing was..."  
  
"Something that came from _inside_ me."  
  
"No. It didn't."  
  
"Yes, it _did_." Willow stood up, shoving the lighter into her pocket. "Buffy... I know you're the Slayer, rah-rah, fight the evil, yarr, but the world _isn't_ black and white, y'know? Until you can accept the grey, you're not really _my_ friend... you're not really _Spike's_ friend... and you're going to keep having these twisted relationships..."  
  
"I see grey! I see tons of grey, I'm unsorted laundry, I'm..." Buffy bit her lip. "Is it cats or dogs that can't see colors?"  
  
"They both have limited color vision, and that's not the point."  
  
"Oh? What is the point?"  
  
"I think..." Willow bit her lip. "I think maybe it goes beyond the rah-rah Slayer thing. I think maybe you can't admit that Spike could love you, really love you, without a soul... because then you'd have to ask yourself what it means that Angelus _didn't_."  
  
"Why? Why are you saying this stuff to me?"  
  
"Because Spike never will. And there's more, Buffy, there's _so much_ you don't know..."  
  
Buffy leapt to her feet. "Look, Will. I appreciate the little rally from the newest captain of the go-Spike-go cheering squad, but it's not necessary. I like Spike just fine. Better than fine. So you're wasting your breath, and this conversation's _over_."  
  
"You know I was only sort of talking about _Spike_, Buffy..."  
  
Buffy glared. "I have to go check on Angel."


	9. Drain You

Warning: Bit o' naughtiness in this one.  
  
---------------------  
  
"Hey," Angel said quietly, his eyes on Buffy as she circled his bed.  
  
"Hey yourself... how you feeling?"  
  
"Like hell. I forgot how much being human _hurt_." He reached for her hand, and she sat on the side of his bed, interlacing her fingers with his.  
  
"Well, yeah. Probably would have been a nicer experience if you hadn't, y'know, fought a demon horde first..."  
  
"I really didn't think we were gonna come out of that," Angel whispered. "None of us did. We all really thought we were going out in a blaze of glory, y'know?"  
  
"Disappointed?" Buffy grinned.  
  
"I like being alive. And I haven't been _this_ alive in a long time."  
  
"So, can I get you anything? I'm sure your new meatsuit has needs..."  
  
"Actually, yeah." Angel sat up, smiling crookedly. "I _am_ kinda hungry."  
  
"Name it. The best of our creepy cave rations are at your disposal. Whatever your gourmet heart desires, be it granola bars, granola bars, or even granola bars. Also, some trail mix, but I think Andrew picked all the M&M's out of it..."  
  
"Actually..." Angel pulled her towards him, "I was kind of hungry for some nice, raw, cookie dough."  
  
"We don't... oh! See, I, uh, I just got that..."  
  
Angel raised an eyebrow. "Wanna crawl in? I feel like having a moment of perfect happiness."  
  
---------------------  
  
"Giles, are you okay? You look kind of... pale..."  
  
Giles polished his glasses, a faraway look on his face. "I... it's... rather extraordinary. I should like to see a demonstration, if you two don't mind..."  
  
Xander and Willow exchanged a nervous glance.  
  
"The thing is... when we do this... it's kinda, um, very woo. I mean... sometimes... sometimes that's really good... we took out just crazy amounts of demons, didn't we, Xander? But sometimes, uh... like, I tried to do a locator spell on Spike and ended up kinda... sucking his memory out... so..."  
  
"And we healed Buffy just 'cause I thought about her..."  
  
"Oh, and we couldn't separate, remember that? Kennedy had to practically break your fingers..."  
  
"Yeah, couldn't help but notice she went for _my_ fingers, not yours..."  
  
Willow grinned impishly. "Well, she has a vested interest in my fingers."  
  
"And normally I would say 'eww', but I just realized I'd be turning my back on hot lesbian mental pictures, so..."  
  
"You _do_ know that when Kennedy and I _aren't_ inside your head, we don't wear naughty schoolgirl outfits?"  
  
"Hey, what you guys do when you're not inside my head is your own business," Xander leered. "What you do inside my head is mi-i-ine."  
  
Giles cleared his throat. "Pardon me terribly for interrupting, but -- unexplained magical phenomenon? Possible significance for the war on evil? Unless you'd really rather bicker over the costuming in Xander's private mental copy of 'Luscious Lesbians III'..."  
  
"That was a good one," Xander and Willow said simultaneously.  
  
"And with a brief break for me to roll my eyes to heaven, I will once again struggle to get you two back on topic. The demonstration?"  
  
"What spell do you want us to do?"  
  
"Willow _knows_ what spell _I_ want us to do," Xander said darkly.  
  
"And Willow said _no_," Willow replied firmly. "Maybe we should do some kind of simple glamour, something that won't be catastrophic if it goes all... woo."  
  
"Wait-wait," Giles' eyebrow raised. "What spell do you want to do, Xander?"  
  
"We had a little fight earlier," Willow said hurriedly.  
  
"Because she put Buffy on this major, and may I say majorly _undeserved_, guilt-trip about Captain Peroxide..."  
  
"Oh, _please_. _You're_ even more white hat/black hat than _Buffy_ is."  
  
"All I'm saying is, if he really _is_ a trap, a memory that you can't access..."  
  
"What is this?" Giles interrupted.  
  
"Will and I got into it," Xander explained. "And _I_ said that things were over for Buffy and Spike way before the assault, back when Riley caught him with the Suvolte demon eggs... and Willow, for some weird reason, can't remember _that_..."  
  
"It's like the memory is blocked," Willow finished.  
  
"And I say, if it's blocked, it's probably important, and we should _un_-block it."  
  
Giles frowned, thinking. "Well, if that is indeed when Buffy ended their relationship, perhaps he has repressed it? It would be a most painful memory..."  
  
"He has other really painful memories, though, and I can access _those_..." Willow said. "It's weird, it's like... the door is there, but it's... nailed shut."  
  
"All the more reason to crowbar it open, I say," Xander's jaw set. "Spike's an unknown, and he's out there with _Dawn_."  
  
"Xander does have a point, Willow."  
  
"Fine," Willow sighed. "Fine. Since it's Dawnie."  
  
She flopped her hand, palm-up, on the flat stone, and Xander took it.  
  
"You ready?" Willow whispered.  
  
"Ready," Xander replied...  
  
And they gasped in unison, their necks arching as trails of light swirled around them, Giles eyes' widening as their hair shades blended to reddish-brown, Willow's eyes darkening as Xander's lightened. Giles put a hand on each of their wrists and wrenched them apart; Xander and Willow stared at him, panting.  
  
"How do you feel?" Giles said gently.  
  
"I feel... well... weird," Xander said. "Good-weird..."  
  
"Yeah, what he said..."  
  
"Put aside your embarrassment for a moment. Be honest with me."  
  
"Fine," Xander sighed, looking at his shoes. "Take every moment of horny in my _life_ and roll 'em all together in a big, sticky hornball, okay? _That's_ how I feel." He scuffed his toe against the stone. "Sorry, Will."  
  
"Don't be sorry, I... I'm having a majorly non-gay moment right now..."  
  
"Interesting," Giles said.  
  
"Interesting?" Xander bleated. "_Interesting_? That's all we get? No knowing nod and an 'Ah, you're obviously possessed by a floobertywooberty demon from the glorkzak dimension?'"  
  
"I think it might be a bit more complicated than that. Willow, did the spell work?"  
  
"Hang on, lemme see if I can remember now..."  
  
"C'mon, Will. Suvolte demon eggs, Riley coming in, blowing up Spike's crypt with a grenade... any of this ringing a bell? Unnailing a door?"  
  
Willow's eyes flew wide, horror flooding her face.  
  
"I knew it!" Xander crowed. "What did he do?"  
  
"Willow," Giles said gently, "Tell us what you saw..."  
  
"Spike wasn't the doctor," Willow sighed. "Although he did buy eggs from him."  
  
"What the hell did Spike want with flesh-eating demon babies?"  
  
"Suvolte demons... their blood is a kind of poison. A sort of unique one. If someone drinks it, it... makes them vulnerable. You can _take_ things from them. Strength. Love. Faith. Innocence. Whatever you want. Whatever you _need_. Whatever you're missing."  
  
Xander's hands balled into fists. "He gave that to Buffy? He was... taking herself from her? God, no wonder she was so..."  
  
Willow touched his hand. "Xander. _Spike_ was drinking it."  
  
"What?"  
  
"He was hatching the eggs on purpose. He was feeding on them."  
  
"I... I don't understand."  
  
"She wouldn't ask for anyone's help, so... he made it so she didn't have to. He opened himself up so she could just take what she needed."  
  
---------------------  
  
Angel touched Buffy's shoulder. "Hey-hey... sleepy girl..."  
  
"Muhnumuhnuhmunf."  
  
"Hey, _I'm_ the mere mortal here. You're the one with the Slayerness... shouldn't I be the one falling asleep before... y'know... the dough gets unwrapped?"  
  
Angel paused. "Can we get a new metaphor? I really hate that metaphor."  
  
Buffy groaned. "You're a mere mortal... who's still in his own time zone. I started this day on Italy time..."  
  
"Oh. Yeah." Angel kissed her shoulder. "Kinda forgot. Been a big day."  
  
"Uh-huh..." Buffy mumbled, her eyes closing...  
  
---------------------  
  
_"Do you even like me?"   
  
"Sometimes."   
  
"But you like what I do to you."   
  
Spike turns to her, an eyebrow raised, a pair of handcuffs dangling from his fingers. "Do you trust me?"   
  
"Never."  
  
The flash of pain in his eyes sends a shock through her heart; it's so hard to remember sometimes that he doesn't __have_ feelings... not real ones, anyway...  
  
Still, she tries to soften the blow. "Be kind of embarrassing for me, huh? I mean, when you're all 'Oh, let me tell you about the three Slayers I killed, the last one was the best, I had her handcuffed to a bed...'"  
  
"You think... you still think I'd kill you?" he whispers, his face an open wound.  
  
"I'm kidding! Ha-ha-ha! Funny!" Her voice trails off. "Or not..."  
  
He merely stares, and if his eyes are shinier than usual, she's sure it's the candlelight.  
  
"Hey," she teases. "How come you want to cuff me up, anyway? I thought you liked that I could kick your ass."  
  
He smiles a little, back on familiar ground; he reaches out to slide a lock of her hair through his fingertips. "I assure you, pet, it's only for the safety of my remaining furniture."  
  
"What_ remaining furniture?"  
  
"Point." He tilts his head, raises an eyebrow, and something shoots through her; she reaches to him, puts both of her hands on his wrist.  
  
"All right, Big Bad," she smiles. "Cuff me up."  
  
The delight on his face ought to scare her; she can tell it's the trust, not the thought of her helpless, that has him grinning, and she can't decide which is more terrifying.  
  
He lays her down across the bed, running his hands up her forearms, locking her wrists into place... and sits back, watching her, drinking her in.  
  
"All right," she says, trying to keep her voice steady, her tone a challenge instead of a plea. "I'm at your mercy, ooo-ooo. Whatcha gonna do to me?"  
  
"This," he whispers... and places a tender kiss on her eyelid.  
  
Buffy stiffens from shock; this isn't __them_, isn't what they do... at least, isn't what they do when she has any say in it. Spike presses his lips to her other eyelid, her temple, the tip of her nose; his fingertips trace her cheekbone, lovingly, with aching slowness.  
  
His fingers slide through her hair, brushing it back from her face. "So beautiful. You're so beautiful..."  
  
And hours pass, melting into molasses, as Spike _learns_ her, inch by inch... fingertips and lips and sheathed teeth, committing her to memory. He watches her, notes every tiny gasp and sigh as he surveys her skin, returning to tease in the interesting spots he's found, then just caressing, his cool palm gliding, his face full of wonder. He finds sore muscles and works on them, his hands kneading away the knots, his eyes deep and full, happy to take away the pain, happy to be making her happy.   
  
She relaxes, boneless, nearly asleep, only to gasp back to reality when his grin turns wicked, seeking the places that make her arch beneath him, stopping with a naughtily arched eyebrow when she gets too hot, turning achingly tender again.  
  
"You're a tease," she gasps.  
  
"Learned from the best, pet," he growls against her stomach... and then moves lower.  
  
He does not need to breathe. The hours pass; she loses the ability to move, to think, to do anything but sob his name, to shake uncontrollably in his arms.  
  
She can see light in the windows when he finally takes her, claiming her mouth with his, whispering against her lips that he loves her, that she makes him feel alive. And she feels it inside her... his love for her, his faith in her, his respect for her, his desire for her, surging through her veins, lighting her from the inside, pooling in her mind, blowing away the gray fog in which she lives.  
  
She can feel, she can feel him, she can feel herself, feel herself come to life, feel herself the way he sees her, see the beauty and strength he sees, see the light within her that draws him. It's like she's taking his love from him, taking his passion, drawing it deep within herself, filling the holes with it...  
  
He stiffens and shudders, whispering her name, again and again, like a prayer to the light... and raises himself, kissing her forehead tenderly, her left eyelid, her right.  
  
"I love you so much," he whispers, his voice low, rough.  
  
He reaches above her head. She hears the metal rattling of the handcuffs; she is free.  
  
He catches her eyes, stares into them. "Do you love me?"  
  
Time stops; she's frozen, pinned beneath the weight of his expression, and part of her wants to give this to him, give something back...  
  
Her silence makes him shiver; he drops his eyes, drops his voice. "Could you ever love me?"  
  
"Spike," she whispers. "I'll never love you. I _can't_. You... you know that."  
  
"Right." She watches as the walls slam down. "Of course. Forgot. Soulless evil thing. Slipped my mind there for a second."  
  
"Spike... I need to go."  
  
"Of course you do." He rolls away from her, presenting the smooth planes of his back. Her freed hands itch to touch them; she doesn't.  
  
"I guess I'll see you later."  
  
"Right," he replies flatly.  
  
"Um... thanks. It was... fun."  
  
"Just bloody go," he commands, and his voice is thick, choked.   
  
She goes. 


	10. Little Fibbies

A/N: Wow, thanks for the e-mail and reviews! I can't really answer most questions without giving away upcoming surprises, but... things will work themselves out.  
  
I rewrote this a bit.  
  
----------------------------  
  
"Goodnight, Giles."  
  
"Goodnight, Xander, I..." Giles looked off into space for a moment, then shook his head, adjusting his glasses. "Pleasant dreams."  
  
Xander stared at the Watcher's retreating back, the shadows of the cave swallowing him as his form receded. "Sure, yeah... you too..."  
  
"He's hiding something," Xander muttered... then noticed his audience was gone.  
  
"Hey, Will!"  
  
She was heading down the right-hand corridor, her head bowed, her fingertips trailing along the rough stone at her side. Exhausted? Worried?  
  
"Nobody tells me anything," Xander sighed.  
  
He jogged up the passageway, catching her by the elbow. "Will. Hey. Hang on a second."  
  
"Xander, I don't... I'm _really_ tired..."  
  
"I know. Me, too. I've just..." Xander turned her gently, trying to get her to meet his eyes. "You... you didn't tell us the whole truth, back there."  
  
She kept her gaze on her shoes. "Y-yes I did..."  
  
"Will, _please_. I _know_ you. I can smell your little fibbies, okay? Spill."  
  
Willow's lips twitched. "Remind me to get friends who _haven't_ known me forever."  
  
"Will... I saw your face. You looked... horrified. _Way_ more horrified than you would have been if all you saw was Spike trying to help Buffy. So, what gives?"  
  
"Xander. You... you don't want to know. Not this time."  
  
"Um, hi, I think this is me harassing you? Obviously I _do_..."  
  
"No, you _don't_." Willow crossed her arms, her fingers picking nervously at a seam on her jacket. "Look, Xander... the reason that door was nailed shut in Spike's memory was because Spike _had it_ nailed shut. He had a... a spell done on him or something. He didn't want to know what he knew, and... and I can't blame him for not wanting to know. Honestly, _I'm_ thinking about making _myself_ forget it..."  
  
"C'mon, Will, the man drank half of Europe and staked his own mother. What could be that bad?"  
  
Willow sighed. "The... the reason Buffy needed help. The reason she's been... so lost."  
  
"Because we brought her back from the dead! This is _not_ new info! Will, we _all_ feel guilty about that..."  
  
"It _wasn't_ her resurrection. I mean, we all thought it was, but... and that made it worse, yeah, but..." Willow sighed heavily. "Look, Xander. If you never had any memory of having your other eye... would you miss it?"  
  
Xander paused, thinking it over. "I... don't guess I'd _know_ what I was missing..."  
  
"Right. Exactly. I mean, maybe you'd notice you didn't catch balls so great, maybe, but it wouldn't occur to you, y'know, 'Oh! What I need is another eye!', right? You'd have no concept of it."  
  
"Where are you going with this, Will?"  
  
"Okay, um, imagine you die, a-and you go to heaven. Suddenly, wow -- two eyes! And then... and then you come back _here_, and suddenly, now that you know what being two-eyed is like, you can... you can _feel_ it, y'know? You can feel the empty place where the eye used to be. It'd be depressing... really depressing, right?"  
  
"This _conversation_ is depressing." Xander tapped his eyepatch. "Couldn't you have picked a different metaphor?"  
  
"Right, yeah, I..." Willow suddenly smiled. "Xander? Take my hand."  
  
"Look, I'm already about to go find a quiet spot and give myself some _serious_ friction blisters, I don't think I can take another round of..."  
  
"Shut up," Willow laughed. "What color do you want?"  
  
"What color do I... _what_?"  
  
"I don't know, I mean, why be normal? We could give you a blue one, kind of a cool two-toned thing, or maybe a nice red one, oooh, scare the kiddies, kind of a, y'know, _Mad-Moody_ vibe..."  
  
Xander stared, comprehension dawning.  
  
"Unless you'd like to match," Willow grinned.  
  
"I... I think I'd like to match."  
  
"Fine. Be boring. Grab on."  
  
----------------------------  
  
"Well, I guess that's the bonus of jet lag," Dawn giggled around a mouthful of toothpaste, watching the first colors of morning paint the world outside the hotel room window. "I'm on the same sleep schedule as the dead."  
  
A low growl from the interior of the shower.  
  
"Aw, c'mon, Spike, it's a _road trip_," Dawn teased. "Snacks, mix tapes... memory potions... gotta have the basics, right? Besides, just think of it as a sort of... after-school-special kind of warning. Don't take drinks from _dangerous women_."  
  
"Y'know, between you, Zombie Wesley, and Illyria, I'd rather thought _you_ were the least of my problems, Bit. Obviously, I'd _forgotten_. Maybe you ought to _dose me up_ again, eh? Seem to be right fond of the hobby."  
  
She heard the water shut off behind her; Spike pulled a towel into the shower with him with an angry snap.  
  
"Y'know, you should think about growing your hair out," Dawn smiled. "Your crazy-in-the-basement hair was way sexy."  
  
"You never saw my crazy-in-the-basement hair."  
  
"That's what _you_ think."  
  
Spike's face popped out from behind the shower curtain. "That -- that was really _you_? I thought you were one of the creepy crawlies."  
  
"What... you thought 'the First' would sit with you, bring you blood, eat a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich and ask you for advice about its History teacher?"  
  
Spike stepped out of the shower, a towel around his waist, rubbing his hair with another. "Well, I can't imagine I gave you very good advice, did I? Wasn't my most Oprah moment."  
  
"Actually, you did. You said it didn't matter, because the school was going to collapse into rubble. Which was true, wasn't it? And you sang. You have a nice voice."  
  
Spike gaped at her, the towel hanging off his head for a moment before he went back to drying with a vengeance. "Buffy'd beat you brainless if she found out, y'know. How'd y'know I was down there, anyway?"  
  
"Which is why I didn't tell her... _duh_... and hey, did you see how _surprised_ I acted when you showed up? I should _totally_ have tried out for the play." Dawn set her toothbrush down. "And... this dead cheerleader in the lunchroom told me."  
  
Spike fixed Dawn with a glare. "Right. Now... one little question... did you come down to the basement in _spite_ of the fact that I was bug-shaggin' crazy... or _because_ of it?"  
  
Dawn dropped her eyes. "_Because of_. I thought... I thought maybe, if you were _really_ crazy, you'd..."  
  
Spike hurled the towel down. "D'ya know what the best thing about bein' _dead_ was, Bit? _Not having this bloody conversation with you_."  
  
"Can't blame a girl for trying," Dawn said sheepishly.  
  
"Oh, don't you bloody _dare_ look all _cute_ at me. I'll blame you all I want! Kick a man when he's down, why don't you? I go off my rocker and you _jump me_? Your concern for my mental health touches me _deeply_."  
  
"I didn't really... jump you, so much... I... well... I _did_ cut myself and hold the wound up to your face..."  
  
Spike stared at her in undisguised horror. "Bit, you wretched bitch."  
  
Dawn crossed her arms defiantly. "_I_ want to help my sister. _You_ want to help my sister. You _know_ it would work."  
  
"Nibblet..." Spike sighed wearily, sitting down heavily on the toilet lid, "I've told you and told you... I don't know _any such thing_. I was a big poesy-spoutin' poof as a human, and look what I turned into. Look what happens to Angel, look what happened to Dru..."  
  
"Yeah, but..."  
  
"Bit... I had to _stake my own mum_. You don't... you _can't_ know what that did to me. I couldn't do it again, not to you."  
  
"But..."  
  
"I _know_ you're biased, Bit. Can't say as I blame you. Angel, Anya, Clem, me... no wonder you don't take demoning proper serious. We're not the norm, love, not by a long shot. The _norm_ is what your sister puts her life on the line to _stake_ every night. The _norm_ is everything that's ever kidnapped you, terrorized you, hurt you..."   
  
Spike dropped his head, sighing. "I know you like my stories. You think they're _ghost_ stories, and that's my fault -- that's how I tell 'em to you, innit? But those were real people I killed. Real people with feelin's and families and... pet dogs and heartbeats and things they wanted to be when they grew up -- d'ya get that? I ate _babies_, Bit. And I laughed while I did it."  
  
"You turned into what you became because of Angelus and Drusilla. _I'd_ be with _you_."  
  
Spike caught her wrist roughly, pulling her to him. "No. Dawn, _listen_ to me. I turned into what I became because I lost my soul and _became a demon_. _Peer pressure_ doesn't cut it -- don't delude yourself. Five years ago, I'd have killed your sister. Gleefully. Do you understand that? Try to understand that. I love you, and I hope... I _pray_ I'm a better person now, but..."  
  
"We tried it your way! Why can't we try mine?"  
  
"Because your way would destroy you!"  
  
"Your way nearly destroyed you!"  
  
Spike shrugged. "I deserved it."  
  
"Spike... I _shouldn't exist_. Part of me knows it, part of me can _feel_ that, it's... squirming in my brain all the time. All that damsel-in-distressing... me laying on the railroad tracks, going to your crypt in the middle of the night... don't you understand? _I have a death wish_, and I can't control it. My soul -- the part of Buffy's soul they took from her and stuck in me -- it _knows_ it doesn't belong there. It's trying to get back."  
  
Dawn sighed heavily. "It's... _always_ trying to get back."  
  
"I'm not vamping you, Bit. Don't you _ever_ get tired of this little discussion? And that little restoration potion was a dirty little trick."  
  
"You made yourself forget. I wanted you to remember."  
  
"_I wanted to forget!_ I wouldn't have had the bloody spell done if I hadn't wanted to forget!"  
  
"She couldn't take what she needed from you, because what she needs, what she's _missing_, is in me! Spike, you think you care about me -- you don't! You care about _her_. That's all I am. Her. A part of her she needs back."  
  
"And you're just _so_ bloody sure that if you give up the bit of her soul you've got, it'll what, go sailin' across California and fly up her nose? If it wants to be whole so badly, why didn't it all... fly into you when she died?"  
  
"She wasn't all the way dead. It's why Willow could bring _her_ back... and not Tara."  
  
Spike shook his head. "This discussion is _over_."  
  
"Spike..." Dawn said quietly, "If you don't vamp me... I'll... I'll get another vampire to."  
  
"Oh, you're going to, what -- walk into a vampire lair and ask 'em nicely?"  
  
"If I have to."  
  
"You'll be dead before the door closes."  
  
"And Buffy will have her whole soul back. Mission accomplished, right?"  
  
Spike growled.  
  
"Spike... I don't _want_ another vampire to bite me. I want _you_ to do it. You _told_ me... vampires are bound to their sires. I want to be bound to _you_, not someone else. I know you'll keep me safe, make sure I stay good..."  
  
"And how am I supposed to do that, eh? Plant a chip in your head? Sorry, love, don't think they have 'em in your size at The Gap..."  
  
"You got a soul! Why couldn't I get one?"  
  
"I got my _own_ soul back! You don't _have_ a bleedin' soul of your own!"  
  
"Aha! I got you to say it!"  
  
Spike cradled his head in his hands. "Bit, shut the bloody hell up..."  
  
"Maybe I could get another soul. Someone else's, someone who's not using it. I mean, there are thousands and thousands of vampires, right? That means there's thousands and thousands of souls just going to waste..."  
  
"Bit, I've had a _very_ bad day and you're makin' it worse. It's time for bed."  
  
"Spike... Buffy will _never_ be happy, _never_ be whole, until I die. You tried to make her comfortable in the dark, it didn't work. You tried to replace what she was missing... it didn't work. I need to die, I-I _want_ to die, but I... I'm scared of... not existing. You have the ability to free Buffy's soul and make me still exist. It's _perfect_."  
  
"It's not anything even _approachin'_ perfect, which is probably why I've spent four years sayin' no. I'm goin' to bed. Close your eyes, I'm puttin' pants on."  
  
Dawn shut her eyes... then opened them, coming up behind Spike, sliding her hands around his waist. "Spike... _I'm_ the part of Buffy you could never touch. _I'm_ the part she gave to Angel, started to give to Riley, and could never give to you... because _she didn't have it anymore_..."  
  
Spike shut his eyes painfully. "Bit... stop it."  
  
She let her fingers play over his stomach muscles, dropping her voice to a sultry register. "I _know_ you want that part of her. _Need_ that part of her. And guess what? That part of her... _me_... loves you. _Wants_ you. Always has. Always will."  
  
"Bit, I don't want to hurt you, but I'm about to toss you clear across this bathroom..."  
  
"You don't want to do that," Dawn whispered. "Spike... I love you so much. Put me back in her, and she will too. Love you the way she wants to. Love you the way she _needs_ to."  
  
"She loves Angel," Spike gasped, grabbing both of Dawn's wrists and holding them away from him.  
  
"No, she doesn't. She did. She thinks she does... and of course she thinks that. It's the last time she was ever able to _really_ love, with her whole soul. She _can't_ feel as strongly about you as she did Angel, because she just can't _feel_ that strongly. Not while I'm still alive..."  
  
"Spike..." Dawn brushed her lips over Spike's shoulderblades, feeling him shudder. "... _kill me_." 


	11. Shiny Things

"Spike... that _really_ stinks, okay?"  
  
"You're the one with the bleedin' _death wish_, Bit," Spike said slowly, poison dripping from every syllable. "Bit o' secondhand smoke ought to be just what the Doctor Kevorkian ordered."  
  
"Yeah, but it smells like..."  
  
"What... _death_?" Spike rolled over in the dim light the escaped the shut curtains, propping his head on his hand, his voice low, sinister, seductive. "You'll get to know _that_ taste intimately, pet. When your heart stops beatin', when it _shrivels up_ in your chest... when you take that last, gaspin' breath, when everythin' inside you goes silent n' cold..."  
  
He raised an eyebrow, his lips curving predatorially. "Do y'know why vampires don't just rise up the moment they're sired, Bit? Why they have time to be buried, to claw themselves out of their graves?"  
  
Dawn blinked, her eyes wide. "No..."  
  
"They need time to _rot_." Spike smiled when she flinched. "On the inside. And you _feel_ it, Bit. You're not strong enough to rise yet, you're paralyzed, but you _feel_ it all the same. It's _agony_, love... all the pain you've ever felt in your life, you roll that together and you still won't begin to understand."  
  
He tapped ashes into the tray perched on his bed. "There's only one thing worse than bein' conscious for your decomposition, and _that's_ feelin' your soul go. It doesn't take off quick, love, choirs o' angels singin' it to its rest... oh no. It's _ripped out_, an' it's ripped out slow-like. You can feel it pullin' away, like pullin' tape off flesh. You can feel the light in you go. The demon that steals your body rips it out to make room for itself... inside the cold, dead shell that's all that's left of you when it's done its work."  
  
Spike caught Dawn's eyes, held them... mesmerizing her. The light of his cigarette reflected in the pupils of his eyes, red fire dancing. "And when it goes, Bit... it leaves your mind, your memories behind. Call it a toybox, 'cause that's what it is... a toybox full of shiny things for the new demon inside you to play with. Darkness loves to pervert, Bit, and don't kid yourself for a moment -- it's got a sense of humor."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"Here's the funny thing, Bit. When I was human, I -- and if you breathe a _word_ of this, I'll rip out your lungs n' make balloon animals of 'em, understand?"  
  
"Understand."  
  
"Right. Well, _William_ made _Xander_ look rugged n' manly. Rugged, manly, and smooth with the ladies. I didn't even _talk_ the same, Bit, I..." He broke off, looking inward. "Can I still do it?"  
  
"Yes, I still can." Spike smiled, and Dawn's eyes widened.  
  
"Spike... you... you sound all... _Merchant Ivory_..."  
  
"My dearest, darling girl," Spike grinned, still in his human voice, "I _was_ all Merchant Ivory. Waistcoats and hankerchiefs and little glasses, doting on my mother, living in _novels_. I _wanted_ passion, excitement, pain, love, joy... certainly... and I found them within pages, in perfect worlds of chivalry and faith and courage and undying love. I wore rose-coloured glasses that were very nearly opaque. I wanted a life that was bigger, cleaner, brighter, simpler, than human existence; I wanted a woman that was better than human."  
  
Spike shrugged. "I supposed that explains why when I finally fell in love, it was with a vengeance demon..."  
  
"Uh, _what_?"  
  
"Cecily. You've met her. Only 'Cecily' wasn't her real name, of course. It's Halfrek."  
  
"Whoa-whoa-whoa..."  
  
"Oh, indeed. A shock for me as well, I assure you."  
  
"Spike, could you... could you talk normal? The Giles accent is... kind of creepy, coming out of you."  
  
Spike dropped back into his normal voice. "Prefer the Johnny Rotten thing, eh?"  
  
"Who's Johnny Rotten?"  
  
Spike recoiled as if slapped. "Bit... wait... _no_. Stayin' on topic, but... we'll come back to that. At any rate, the demon... it took what I was and _twisted_ it... made me the epitome of what I'd always scorned, and it used _my own personality_ to do it. Squishin' some things, drawin' out others, keepin' just enough intact for the thing to have that _nice_ touch of irony..."  
  
"But..."  
  
"Don't interrupt me, Bit, I'm gettin' to the good part. When Angel was Angel, he loved Buffy more than anythin'. But when his soul left... when he went back to bein' Angelus... that love, it didn't leave. The passion was still there... but it got dark just like the rest of 'im. Became obsession. S'what the demon inside him did with his mind, Bit. Took all that love and turned it into somethin' twisted and sick, something that made him stalk her, threaten yer mum, kill the Watcher's bird. Love. Are you starting to get it? Whatever you care about, Bit, whatever you _are_... that's what the demon's gonna use."  
  
"But you _are_ a demon."  
  
Spike inhaled, cocking an eyebrow. "True that."  
  
"So how can you talk about yourself in the third person? I don't get it. Part of you is still human, part of you is a demon, part of you is the soul? Where are you?"  
  
"Might ask you the same question. Which bit of you is the Key, which is Buffy? Where are _you_?"  
  
"I... I don't know."  
  
"Right. Can't locate your existential Dawnness any more than _I_ could tell y'where William ended n' Spike began, even before the soul muddied the works. Angel's the one you want to talk to on that topic, though..." Spike sneered, "I'd rather imagine he's busy just at the moment."  
  
"Yeah, they... I guess they have a lot of wounded, huh?"  
  
"Wasn't quite what I meant, but sure, Bit; _wounded_."  
  
Dawn flopped over onto her stomach, gazing across the valley between their beds. "What did _you_ mean?"  
  
"We should get some sleep," Spike said gruffly.  
  
"Spike..."  
  
"Fine. Uncle Spikey was havin' a wee pity party where your big sis is concerned."  
  
"You think she's back with Angel?"  
  
"Don't _think_ it, love. Know it. Saw it." Spike adjusted a pillow under his head, sighing. "_Smelled_ it."  
  
Dawn surveyed his face, her eyes widening in shock. "You... Spike? You... you don't hate Angel any more...?"  
  
Spike smashed his pillow over his face. "Bit, go to sleep."  
  
"Spike, come _on_. I can tell. I mean, you used to tape cartoons of him to Buffy's punching bag... what gives?"   
  
"Fine," Spike groaned, tossing the pillow aside. "Fair cop, Bit... Peaches has grown on me a bit since I put on the white hat." Spike grinned. "What can I say? He's like a big, funny, fluffy, frowny circus bear."  
  
"With fangs."  
  
"Yeah." Spike flashed her a wicked look. "What's not to like?"  
  
He flopped onto his stomach, raising an eyebrow. "Looked cuter as a puppet, though."  
  
"A what?"  
  
"A _very_ funny story, that I'll tell you in great detail _tomorrow_." Spike rolled over, facing away from Dawn.  
  
"Huh," Dawn said, gazing at the ceiling. "Guess she's cheating on The Immortal, then."  
  
"Looks to be," Spike sighed. "Better a million years of Angel with me tied up n' forced to watch than her with _that_ bloody bastard."  
  
"Don't like the Immortal, huh?"  
  
"You could say that."  
  
"I don't either."  
  
"Glad to hear one female doesn't think he's the bleedin' King of All..."  
  
"He came onto me," Dawn sighed.  
  
Spike was rolled over and wide awake in an instant, staring. "He _what_?"  
  
"Came onto me," Dawn yawned, propping her head on her palm. "I'd gotten him to do the you impression and play rummy with me. Y'know, for old times sake. I guess he thought it worked so well on Buffy, might as well try it on..."  
  
"Whoa-whoa-_whoa_, Bit. Back up. The _me_ impression?"  
  
"Don't you know what The Immortal is?"  
  
"Enlighten me."  
  
"He's a psychic vampire. There's some other word for it, I can't pronounce it. He must have drained you at some point. That's what he does... _I_ think he's a major creep. He sees a woman he wants, what he usually does is drain the boyfriend first, get all this inside info before he even approaches her. Then he moves in, already knowing what she likes. Makes a perfect first impression."  
  
"Angel and I... he chained us in a barn..."  
  
"Did he go for Darla and Dru right afterwards?"  
  
"Yeah... yeah, he did..."  
  
Dawn snorted. "Typical."  
  
"Tell me more."  
  
"I thought you wanted me to go to sleep," Dawn teased.  
  
"You can sleep in the car. _Talk_."   
  
"He drains all kinds of stuff. Memories, technique, knowledge. I mean, everyone thinks he's so great, but what's so great about someone who's just... a patchwork of other people? Everything he is, he stole from someone else."  
  
"You're bloody well kidding me."  
  
"Nope. You wanna hear something hilarious? When he first met Buffy, he thought _Andrew_ was her boyfriend. So he was all talking about Star Wars, you should have seen the look Buffy gave him..."  
  
"And he does a me impression?"  
  
"He can shape-shift. Normally, he just stays whatever kind of handsome is in style, y'know? When I first saw him, Lord of the Rings had just come out, and he was doing this sort of Orlando Bloom, Legolasy thing... I mean, as much as he could without someone being all, 'Hey, dorkwad, why are you dressed up as an elf, go back to GeekCon,', y'know?"  
  
"_Dorkwad_?"  
  
"It's a word!" Dawn smiled conspiratorially. "It's what I call him behind Buffy's back."  
  
"His new name it shall be, then. Tell me more about Buffy and... Dorkwad." Spike grinned from ear to ear. "_Dorkwad._ I _do_ like that."  
  
"Well, we're out at a club, right? Me, Buffy, and Andrew. Andrew goes off to the bathroom, doesn't come back for the longest time... finally comes back all woozy. Then here comes The Immortal, babbling to Buffy about Scott Bakula."  
  
"Why didn't she just kick him in the stones and pour her drink on his head?"  
  
"Well, she cut him a little slack. Because of how he looked."  
  
"Buffy's got a thing for elf impersonators? Wish I'd known, I could have nicked a fetchin' Santa's Helper costume off a mall worker..."  
  
"Um, yeah, hello? Cheekbones from hell, dark hair dyed white blonde, black eyebrows?"  
  
"He looked like Legolas, I got it..."  
  
"No, _dim bulb_, he looked like _you_."  
  
"Oh," Spike said quietly.  
  
"And then they started talking, and your name came up, and he said he knew you..."  
  
"Oh? And what did he say about me, pray tell?"  
  
"Nothing but nice stuff. Otherwise, Buffy probably _would_ have kicked him in the stones and poured her drink on his head."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"_Duh_. Spike, we thought you were _dead_. We _missed_ you. And when The Immortal said he knew you, seemed eager to hear about you, Buffy was all over that. She likes to talk about you. She doesn't get much of a chance to."  
  
Spike raised his eyebrows, leaning back. "Wow."  
  
"See, that was when I got suspicious. Because the more he talked to Buffy, the more obvious it became that she really cared about you, the more he started... becoming you. His voice started changing, his features shifted a little... he didn't offer to do the full-on change until later, when she said how much she missed you."  
  
"So he walked around lookin' like me, talkin' like me? Bit, that's bent."  
  
"It kinda was. He never did it when Andrew was around, though..."  
  
"Well, if he drained Andrew, he'd know I was alive and that Andrew knew that."  
  
"Makes sense." Dawn picked at her fingernails. "But yeah. He did his little you impression all the time."  
  
"I still say it's soddin' creepy."  
  
"Spike. You're not hearing me. I said, _all the time_, and I'm giving you _the meaningful look_."  
  
"All the -- even when they were..."  
  
"_Especially_ then."  
  
"Wow. Got _herself_ a nifty little sex toy, didn't she? Bam, I'm with Spike! Bam! I'm with Angel! It's the bloody undead sex buffet! I tell you what, Bit, that's the last _scrap_ of guff I take for ordering that bloody bot..."  
  
"Spike..." Dawn whispered. "He never changed into Angel."  
  
Spike froze. "What?"  
  
"Not once." Dawn bunched up her pillow beneath her head. "And you know what else? The first time he... y'know... _stayed over_, Buffy cried after he left."  
  
"Serious?"  
  
"Serious. Cried all over me. Got snot on me, actually, it was _way_ gross. Said he could look like you and talk like you, but he never looked at her the way you did."  
  
"Bit... you're makin' it up."  
  
"Cross my heart and hope to..."  
  
"Hope to die? I _know_ you do, Bit... which means I _know_ what this little pep talk is all about, right? This is all part of your bloody 'Vamp Me Please, Spike' pledge-a-thon, and for a second there, I was actually fallin' for it. Nice try, Bit." Spike flopped over to his other side. "I'm goin' to sleep now."  
  
"She said that. That's one of the things she said, when she was crying. That you didn't believe her when she said she loved you."  
  
"With bloody good reason, Bit. Buffy never loved me. God knows she's spent long enough tellin' me she never could. I was burnin' alive, she took pity on me, told me what I wanted to hear."  
  
"She really does love you, Spike."  
  
"As a friend, maybe. Not the way..." Spike sighed. "You don't understand, Bit."  
  
"I understand fine, it's..."  
  
"Buffy won't _ever_ love me, Bit. She can't. She _shouldn't_. You could stuff four souls in her and she never would. Tear up your trump card, Nibblet, 'cause Spike knows somethin' you don't."  
  
"Oh yeah? What's that?"  
  
"_Why_ she'll never love me."  
  
"But..."  
  
Spike smiled painfully. "I'm _beneath her_."


	12. Lie Most Effectively

"I have no desire to watch you die again. I found it most unpleasant."  
  
Wesley looked into the mirror warily, meeting Illyria's eyes in it and setting the razor blade aside. "I was only preparing to shave, Illyria."  
  
"I only lie to you at your request. I did not request this lie."  
  
"Yes, that's right." Wesley's mouth set into a grim line. "You lie most effectively. I remember quite well."  
  
Illyria cocked her head, walking into the hotel bathroom to stand at his side. "It was indeed effective. I was not certain it would be."  
  
"Your Fred impression was very convincing. Thank you." Wesley sighed. "Illyria, if you don't mind, I'd like to be alone."  
  
"I do not wish to leave you alone."  
  
Wesley's fingertips tapped the blade that lay flat on the counter. "Very well, let us try logic. Illyria, Spike is right. I'm an unknown threat. I very much doubt that Wolfram & Hart has brought me back for a noble purpose. I could be possessed... some sort of weapon, perhaps implanted with a trigger similar to the one the First Evil placed in Spike. We're at war. We cannot have liabilities."  
  
"Your logic is flawed. You are in the same position as Spike; you react differently because your cookie dough is dead while his is alive."  
  
"C-cookie dough?"  
  
"It is a metaphor. I see it is not a universal one. I will make note of it. I wish to examine your knife wound."  
  
"I'm afraid that's impossible. I no longer have it."  
  
Illyria smiled. "This pleases me."  
  
"Does it? It shouldn't."  
  
"It does. I felt great grief when you died. I caused much violence. It did not make the emotions stop for very long." Illyria looked around the small bathroom. "I was unaware if it would work."  
  
"Well, sublimating one emotion into another _is_ one way of dealing with grief, although yes, it is generally temporary..."  
  
"You do not understand. I feel surprise at this. I am aware that your training has given you knowledge of the sacred objects involved in true resurrections. Is this information incorrect?"  
  
"No, it's not," Wesley said, a little shaken. "Depends on which spell is to be used, of course, but ah... Urns of Osiris are primarily used, but even better, assuming of course you can even _find_ one, is a Tear of..."  
  
Wesley broke off abruptly, and Illyria tilted her head.  
  
"I believe you understand now, Wesley."  
  
"_The Tear of Illyria_." Wesley whispered. "I can't believe I... never made the connection... I always... I assumed it was an ancient _city_, it never occurred to..."  
  
"I have lost many of my former powers," Illyria said, picking up a tiny complimentary bottle of lotion and examining it curiously. "I was unaware if that was one of them."  
  
"So you... made one of these crystals?"  
  
"It did not have time to evaporate and crystallize."  
  
Wesley blinked. "The Tears of Illyria are... actual _tears_?"  
  
"Is that not what the name indicates?"  
  
"So when you were..." Wesley winced, "... being Fred, she cried for me?"  
  
"Fred cried for you, yes. Those were human tears. Mine were not."  
  
Wesley met Illyria's eyes in the mirror. "You... _you_... cried for me?"  
  
"I felt grief. It is rare and unfamiliar. It is also unpleasant. I wish to avoid it. You will shave without self-injury now that you know the facts of your resurrection?"  
  
"Y-yes."  
  
"Good. Do not use all the hot water. This form is dirty, and I wish to cleanse it."  
  
"C-certainly."  
  
"Also, be sure to return the toilet seat to the lowered position."  
  
Wesley choked on a laugh. "Put the seat down. Right. I can handle that."  
  
---------------------------  
  
Xander rolled over painfully, letting out a little groan. It was dark... freakishly, blackout kind of dark... and he was laying on the ground, on something thin and lumpy that felt like... clothes.  
  
Which would explain the nakedness. He squinted, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the darkness...  
  
Eyes. Eyes, _plural_. Xander raised his fingers, tracing the roundness behind his eyelid.  
  
Yep. This _definitely_ merited the Snoopy Dance.  
  
He reached beneath him to pull out his clothes.  
  
"Ooof," a sleepy little voice murmured.  
  
"Hey, Will," Xander grinned. "Check it out... ol' two-eyes is back!"  
  
"Xander," Willow said in horror.  
  
"No, it's funny, don't you get it? It's a Frank Sinatra joke..."  
  
"Xander... do you have any clothes on?"  
  
"I, uh... _no_."  
  
"Do you... do you remember anything?"  
  
"I remember we were gonna work that spell. Which, I guess we did, 'cause I've got an eye and all..."  
  
Willow shifted around in the darkness. "Oh, God."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Xander... I'm... I'm pretty sure we had sex."  
  
"How do..." Xander broke off. "I guess you'd be able to tell. Uhm. I don't suppose we used..."  
  
"Y'know, I'm _really_ doubting we shook off the magical lust to go buy condoms."  
  
"Are you... on the Pill or anything?"  
  
"Xander, I'm a _lesbian_. Birth control? Not a priority!" Willow gasped. "Oh my God, _Kennedy_."  
  
"She's going to cut Little Xander off, isn't she?"  
  
"I think you'd be lucky if Little Xander's all you lose," Willow groaned. "Oh my God, how am I going to explain this?"  
  
"Well... we were under a spell. Couldn't be helped. Nothing we could do, right?"  
  
"I don't think she's going to go for that, Xander."  
  
"Well, it's _true_... ergo it should be easy to go for..."  
  
"I know! It's just... we tell each other everything, and I kinda told her about... y'know, the situation, with you and me and Oz and Cordelia..."  
  
"Oh, _Will_."  
  
"Yeah. And she's kind of insecure about that kind of thing, anyway. She's always saying I'm bi, and I'm always telling her I'm _not_, but..."  
  
"Well, not to outnumber you, Will, but given what we just did..."  
  
"_No_, Xander. I mean, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but I'm completely unattracted to you right now. I mean, I find you about as sexually exciting as... as... toothpaste."  
  
"You want to explain to me what the _right_ way to take that is?"  
  
"You know what I mean! I like the girlies! Yay with the boobies! It's not until you and I do this new spell-thing..."  
  
"Well, I guess we're both in agreement that we should never do _that_ again..."  
  
"I don't know, Xander..."  
  
"Look, Will. Not that I'm not in favor of sex with hot redheads as a general rule, but I prefer to remember it afterwards."  
  
"We have to talk to Giles."  
  
"I kind of doubt he wants to hear about our little sexcapades, Will..."  
  
"Xander, I think this is the one time that's not true."  
  
---------------------------  
  
"Buffy," Angel whispered, his arms tight around her, the heat of his body warming her through. "Buffy... hon... it was just a nightmare. Wake up."  
  
Buffy's eyes fluttered open, her hands grabbing Angel's forearms.  
  
"Easy... easy..." Angel gasped in pain. "Hey-hey, Slayer, pull back..."  
  
"Sorry," Buffy let go, giving him a sheepish smile. "Not used to having to go easy on you."  
  
Angel chuckled. "Yeah, there's a lot of stuff that's going to take getting used to. Like, for example... it took me the last thirty minutes to figure out that I've _really_ gotta pee. I wonder if I remember how."  
  
"I think it's pretty easy. Ready, aim, fire. Y'know. You, uh... didn't do that before? I mean... you drank, and stuff... where'd it go?"  
  
"C'mon, Buffy, you slept with two of us..." Angel winced. "_Three_ of us... you never noticed?"  
  
Buffy blushed. "Um. Yeah. About that. Um..."  
  
"Look, I know you slept with Spike. And The Immortal. Can't say either one of them really filled my heart with joy, but..."  
  
"Look, the Immortal was just... a stupid thing I did. I mean, I was _totally_ using him..."  
  
"Oh, unlike the loving, caring, blissful union of you and Spike... next up on Lifetime."  
  
"Well, yeah. I was... I was using him, too. More of a... Pay-Per-View thing."  
  
"Better a million years of Spike with me tied up and forced to _watch_ than the Immortal, Buffy..."   
  
"Whoa-whoa," Buffy said, raising her hands. "Totally wasn't expecting _that_ ranking. You hate The Immortal that much, or have you suddenly joined the Spike Fan Club?"  
  
"You're gonna laugh," Angel smirked, "But... a little bit of both. Mostly the former, but... there is a little bit of the latter."  
  
"Oh my God -- first Willow and now you? What's next, Xander in an 'I Grok Spike' t-shirt? Have we _gone_ into Bizarro World?"  
  
"Look, Spike's a major pain in the ass," Angel said. "I'm not saying I don't want to punch him. Frequently. Violently. So his nose bleeds, and his face gets all swollen, and, uh, yeah. But... I've gotta hand it to you, Buffy, he's changed a lot. Beneath the thick layer of total jerk that won't budge, of course. I see the William in him all the time. I just wish he'd knock it off with that _stupid_ fake accent... _that's_ annoyed me for over a century."  
  
"I think I speak for everyone when I say, 'Wha-huh'?"  
  
Angel grinned. "To which part?"  
  
"To all the parts! You not totally hating Spike, you somehow thinking _I_ changed him, and then there's the whole fake accent thing... is he not really British?"  
  
"No, he's really British, it's just... when Spike first started out, he was like..." Angel chuckled. "Oh, I can't believe I'm just now realizing this, I could have harassed him to the point he'd have _staked_ himself. Gunn's right, we need to find him, this is too delicious."  
  
"Hello, planning to share...?"  
  
"He was like... the love-child of Giles and Willow."  
  
"Ew. _So_ don't want to think about how you make one of those!"  
  
"Yeah, me neither. But William was very... insecure. Easy prey, and I don't just mean the vamping. He fixated on Drusilla, even more than the normal sire thing, and that gave him an Achilles' Heel a mile wide. He was fun to play with. Angelus had a field day."  
  
"How... how do you mean?"  
  
"Well, y'know. The whole _sire_ thing. Darla felt it for the Master, I felt it for Darla, Dru felt it for me. As much as Spike loved her, there was always that part of her he could never touch, that part that belonged to me and always would. So he tried to impress her, tried to get access to that part of her... by being me, acting like me. And at the time, well... I wasn't the world's greatest role model. Unless you're evil. If there were Evil Wheaties? I would totally have been on the box."  
  
"Are we... are we talking about Drusilla or _me_, now?"  
  
"I'd hoped you'd notice the parallel. I was also hoping you'd laugh at my Wheaties joke, but I guess that's okay." Angel paused, considering. "Sort of weird, really. He tried to be Angelus to get Dru, and went over to the Dark. He tried to be me to get you -- I still can't believe he got a soul, he's _such_ a copycat -- and went over to the Light."  
  
"So it's all about you, in other words."  
  
"Well... yeah." Angel grinned. "Boy, would _that_ piss Spike off. Why didn't I think of any of this stuff when he was annoying the crap out of me? I gotta write all this down. Do you have a pen?"  
  
"Look, I didn't lead Spike over to the Light any more than Dru led him over to the Dark, okay? I mean... he's a _demon_, hello?"  
  
"Yeah, he is. Like me, and Lorne, and Anya..."  
  
Buffy sighed heavily. "Look, don't make me give _you_ my unsorted laundry speech."  
  
"My turn. 'Wha-huh'?"  
  
"Oh..." Buffy kicked out at a rock. "I got a version of this from Willow yesterday. Or today." She looked around the cavern in irritation. "How the hell am I supposed to know what time it is underground?"  
  
"I don't know either," Angel smiled. "That's _so_ cool."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"My little sense of when then sun's coming up or going down? Totally gone."  
  
"Does this mean you're quitting your creepy little _sniffing_ habit?"  
  
Angel flopped down on the bed, arms crossed behind his head. "Givin' it up for good."  
  
Buffy laid down next to him, propping her head on her hand. "So... his accent's fake?"  
  
"Well, I dunno, he's been doing it for a century, I guess it's real now. Although I have noticed it kinda comes and goes." Angel shrugged. "He used to be way more upper-crust, y'know? The street kid accent was just another attempt to be tough. Like the fingernail polish, and that stupid leather trenchcoat -- have I mentioned how much I hate that thing? -- and the gallons and gallons of Clorox he's poured on his head over the years."  
  
"He bleaches his hair with Clorox?" Buffy said in horror.  
  
Angel grinned a grin of pure, unadulterated joy. "Now, that _would_ be punk. But no. He's _way_ too vain. He has it done in a _salon_. Spike has a _color consultant_. Spike has a _stylist_. Spike has a..."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, and you wear lifts..."  
  
Angel's face paled, and Buffy burst out laughing.  
  
"Oh wow, I didn't realize it was actually _true_!"  
  
Angel glowered at her, and Buffy touched his arm. "I'm glad you and Spike aren't at each other's throats all the time anymore."  
  
"Did I say that? I don't think I said _that_. He's like... my annoying kid brother. Actually, I guess he's my annoying kid grandson, but the brother thing works a little better."  
  
"Well, I can definitely empathize then."  
  
Angel considered something. "Hey, Buffy... did I ever _actually_ meet your little sister? I mean, I 'remember' her, but did I ever really meet her?"  
  
"I don't know," Buffy sighed. "I don't really know precisely when the mojo happened. I know it was back when I was dating..."  
  
"Captain Cardboard?" Angel finished.  
  
"Okay, maybe _not_ liking you and Spike with the truce so much..."  
  
"Spike talks about Dawn all the time," Angel mused. "I guess they have something in common, with the whole younger-sibling-living-in-the-shadow thing. I mean, you're Wheaties Box material yourself. Not to mention the whole supernatural-being-living-in-a-human-body thing."  
  
"I don't really think about Dawn like that. Besides, she's not The Key anymore."  
  
Angel arched an eyebrow. "She's not?"  
  
"Well... if she is... she doesn't open anything."  
  
"You sure?"  
  
Buffy cradled her knees. "I _hope_."  
  
---------------------------  
  
"What's all this for, then?"  
  
Dawn smiled at Spike, plucking a bag of sage out of her basket and giving it a little shake. "I figured things might be after us. I just want to be armed."  
  
Spike cast a wary eye around the magic shop. "Been learnin' from Red? Can't say as I fancy that."  
  
"Not Willow. Giles taught me some stuff. Basic protection spells, locator spells. Y'know. Picked some stuff up on my own. I'm pretty smart."  
  
"I know that, Bit. Just gives me the crawlies to see you messin' with the mojo. Didn't exactly turn out well for Teen Witch, did it?"  
  
"Well, I'm not doing the kind of stuff Willow was doing. She was into the black stuff. I'm not." Dawn turned in a whirl of hair, pulling down another book.  
  
"Right," Spike drawled. "Because you've _never_ been drawn to the forbidden..."  
  
"Please. Give me some credit."  
  
"Oh, I'm givin' you credit, Bit. That's why I'm watchin' you like a hawk."  
  
"Y'know, if this place really gives you the 'crawlies', you could have gone to Wal-Mart with Illyria and Wesley."  
  
"And leave you alone in here? Fat bloody chance. The day you agree to let someone else pick out your clothes is the day I don't take my eyes off you for one second."  
  
"We're on the run from a demon horde, Spike. I don't care if my clothes are cute."  
  
"Well, now," Spike grinned. "There's your proof that you're not made from Buffy."  
  
"Whatever. I'm gonna go pay for this stuff, but I need some nightshade, and it's on the top shelf. Could you get it down for me? It's over there."  
  
"Nightshade," Spike glowered.  
  
"I'm not gonna drink it, hello, it's an _ingredient_." Dawn batted her eyelashes. "Spike, c'mon."  
  
"Fine, fine." Spike trudged off across the store, muttering as he went. "Supposed to protect the bint... got me fetchin' poisons for her..."  
  
"Hi," Dawn said, setting her selections on the counter. "All this stuff, plus a bottle of nightshade my friend's getting right now, and I'd like that pretty paperweight, too."  
  
The shopkeeper chuckled condescendingly. "Dear girl, that's not a _paperweight_, that's an Orb of Thes--"  
  
Dawn cut him off firmly, staring into his eyes. "I'd like the pretty paperweight, please. And if you could wrap it up -- completely -- I'd appreciate it."  
  
The shopkeeper nodded. "Certainly."  
  
Spike came up behind her. "Got your poison, pet. Now, when your sister stakes me, you'll send me a postcard in hell, right?"  
  
"Sure thing," Dawn grinned, taking the bottle from him and setting it on the counter. "But don't worry."  
  
Dawn watched as the shopkeeper wrapped the orb in a sheet of newsprint.  
  
"She's not going to have any reason to stake you."


	13. Soulmates

"All checked in, children," Spike announced, handing out room keys. "Couldn't get adjoining ones this time, sorry."  
  
"Quite all right, Spike," Wesley smiled, hefting his new duffel bag. "Dawn informs me that there is a Britney Spears concert she plans to watch on television this evening, and I believe not sharing a wall with you will suit me fine."  
  
Spike whirled on Dawn. "You're soddin' _kiddin'_ me."  
  
"You'll like it, c'mon. She dances half-naked! It's like a party for your eyeballs."  
  
"Right. Can we watch it on mute, then?"  
  
"Spiiiiiiike!"  
  
"And with that," Wesley grinned to Illyria, "We take our leave of you."  
  
"I don't see why you get the vengeful blue hell-god and I get stuck with Britney Spears!" Spike called after him. "Can't we flip for it?"  
  
Wesley answered him with the brusque closing of a door and the sound of a lock turning.  
  
"Bloody hell," Spike muttered. "Guess it's just you n' me n' Britney, Bit."  
  
"Guess so..."  
  
--------------------  
  
"I see," Giles said quietly.  
  
Xander and Willow stared at him. Giles removed his glasses and began to clean them.  
  
"Okay," Xander huffed, "Maybe I'm _alone_ in this, but I'm thinking now is not the time for a rousing matchup of 'The Quiet Game', okay? Giles, if you know what's going on, you gotta tell us. We're _freaking_ here!"  
  
"Well, I'm not entirely certain... but I do have an idea. Which would be very interesting if it were true, as it would certainly explain some of your history..."  
  
"Blah blah blah, we're fast-forwarding past the intro, okay?"  
  
"Fine. You're familiar with the concept of... soulmates?"  
  
"But Giles, I'm-I'm all kinds of gay... and Tara..."  
  
"Soulmates, at least in the sense of which _I_ speak, are not necessarily romantic. You and Xander have felt a powerful bond since virtually the moment you met, is that not correct?"  
  
"That's... well, yeah, I guess that's correct."  
  
"And when you got heavily into magic, Willow, you and Xander suddenly felt a powerful and overwhelming sexual attraction for each other which neither of you wanted and which you could not control."  
  
"True..."  
  
"Willow, your magical track record has been... er... somewhat less than ideal. You have great power, but on your own, your spells misfire at an alarming rate, you drain exceedingly fast, and there are almost always unexpected consequences. Your magic turns to the dark at frightening speed. You lack... the sort of _balance_ that Tara had. I had hoped that Tara would be a balancing influence, but even Tara could not keep you from the darkness. Only Xander could."  
  
"Gee, thanks for the _pep talk_, Giles," Willow muttered.  
  
Giles turned to Xander. "At the temple... when you calmed Willow down... how did you feel, afterwards?"  
  
"I dunno. Charged-up. Adrenaline pumping. I figured it was, y'know, the narrowly averted apocalypse and all..."  
  
"I now believe you drained Willow that day, Xander. Did anything... strange... happen afterwards?"  
  
"Well, I... I had some really weird dreams, and I had this _really_ bizarre conversation with Spike while he fought this freaky monster-thing..."  
  
"Spike... who was in Africa at the time?"  
  
"He was?"  
  
"Oh, indeed." Giles smiled slightly. "Xander? Take Willow's hand."  
  
Willow flinched. "Giles, I don't want to do more..."  
  
"You won't be the one doing it, Willow. Take his hand. Xander? Close your eyes."  
  
"God, that's the best plural noun in the world..."  
  
"And also, be quiet. Concentrate. Are you sick of granola bars?"  
  
Xander nodded.  
  
"Very well. Think about what you'd like to eat instead, then. Imagine it in your mind, here before you. Smell it. Taste it. See the way the light reflects off of it. What color is the plate? Does steam rise from it? Paint the picture in your mind."  
  
Giles watched Xander's face. "Take your lust and _twist_ it. It's a life force. It's a life _drive_. Use it. Manipulate it. Make it your tool. Or some... other word that sounds less dirty."  
  
Xander grinned. "Wow, I must be really hungry, I _can_ smell it."  
  
"Then open your eyes and eat it, Xander."  
  
"Can I just say how much I love that plural noun? I love that..." Xander opened his eyes. "Oh, holy crap."  
  
"I don't suppose you feel like sharing?" Giles said longingly, looking at the platter of steaming gyoza.  
  
"Will, how'd you know what..."  
  
"Willow did not conjure this, Xander. _You_ did."  
  
"But I... I can't..."  
  
"It would appear that you _can_." Giles waved his hand, and three pairs of chopsticks appeared next to the platter. "In fact, it would appear that you're _meant_ to. Judging by the battle performance you two put on... are you two even aware of what you did?"  
  
"Not really," Willow said, picking up chopsticks and selecting a dumpling. "It's kind of a blur once I grabbed Xander and started spelling..."  
  
"Well, you two turned thousands of demons into so much red mist without harming anyone they were fighting. You two healed the wounded, sometimes even before they were aware they'd been injured. You two vaporized a wooden stick that was a centimeter from Angel's heart, you two levitated Faith out of the way of an axe. These are only the things that have been reported to me. And then there was your subsequent healing of Buffy, brain-suck of Spike, the breaking down of the door in Spike's memory, Xander's eye..."  
  
Giles pointed between them with his chopsticks. "No scary black eyes. No nosebleeds. No headaches. The only spell that could have been said to go wrong at all was the locator spell on Spike, and that was only because you two were unaware of your own strength. Your own... combined strength. Strength _and_ precision."  
  
"Giles... what are you saying?"  
  
"I'm saying that I now believe you two were always meant to be magical partners. You weren't _designed_ to magically function without Xander, Willow. As earth-magic and light were Tara's gift, so the dual-sided magic of creation is yours and Xander's. That you could force yourself to work without him is a testament to the power you share, but you've paid an enormous price for forcing it. Without him, you're out of balance; yin without yang, dark without light..."  
  
Willow gaped. "I'm a lesbian witch with the magical power of... heterosexuality?"  
  
Giles smiled. "You've worked side-by-side for years with a superhero named _Buffy_, Willow. You cannot be unaware that the universe has a sense of humor."  
  
"Ha, ha, ha," Willow said flatly.  
  
"So, wait..." Xander demanded. "All this time, I _haven't_ been the Weakest Link, goodbye? I'm like, a powerful warlock? Why didn't anyone tell me?"  
  
Xander straightened up, a smile growing on his face. "I'm a powerful warlock. I'm a _powerful warlock_. Check me out, Will. Xander Harris, Powerful Warlock."  
  
Willow crossed her arms, staring at the table.  
  
"Xander, I'm terribly sorry we did not figure this out sooner, although I must say I don't regret not having to spend the past eight years listening to you say 'I'm a powerful warlock' over and over..."  
  
"Oh, I'm only gonna say it about 543 more times," Xander grinned.  
  
"Fabulous," Giles drawled, then grew serious. "We will need to begin your training immediately. If the two of you can learn to harness and direct this power... we just might win this war."  
  
Xander was practically bouncing. "When do we start?"  
  
"I say now," Giles said. "We'll need to catch you up to Willow, and quickly. Powerful magic in the hands of the untrained is a dangerous thing indeed."  
  
--------------------  
  
"Bloody _hell_," Spike groaned into the pillow over his head. "This is it, then? I stayed dead, and _this_ is Hell. It even smells like it. Bit, couldn't you take the bloody brimstone into the bathroom, where the lovely convenient _vent_ is?"  
  
"I need the space," Dawn insisted, casting herbs into a bowl in the center of the circle.  
  
"Vampires have a very keen sense of smell, y'know. _And_ hearing. This is double torture. At least turn the bint _down_ a notch or two... we've got _neighbors_, y'know. You're not even lookin' at the soddin' screen."  
  
"I still want to hear it."  
  
"Then buy the bloody compact disc, Bit, it's what she's lip-synching to! That's it -- tomorrow, I'm taking you out and buying you _real_ music. No more of this 'Who is Johnny Rotten' business. I'll get you sorted out."  
  
Dawn added a final pinch from a baggie. "I'm sorry, Spike."  
  
"Ah, it's all right, Bit. Tomorrow, though, serious now, your musical re-education begins, and..."  
  
Spike suddenly sagged on the bed, every muscle relaxing, his eyes staring sightlessly ahead of him.  
  
"I'm sorry, Spike," Dawn repeated. "_Sit up_."  
  
As if tugged by invisible puppet strings, Spike's body lurched into a sitting position.  
  
Dawn crossed to him, kneeling at his feet, taking one of his limp hands between her own. "Spike... I really didn't want to do it this way. But it's all going to turn out okay. You'll see. Everything's going to be so much better."  
  
She ran one hand through his hair, smiling at him. "I love you, Spike. I wanted you to know that. I wish I could have told you these things when you were conscious, but... you would have suspected something."  
  
"Thanks for treating me like I wasn't a stupid kid. Thanks for telling me the truth, even when it wasn't pretty. Thanks for letting me hang out in your crypt after school, for listening to me talk about all my stupid problems."  
  
Dawn traced the scar at his eyebrow with her fingertips. "And thanks for taking care of me after Buffy died. Thanks for getting all pizzaface trying to save me from Glory. Thanks for... thanks for making me eat my vegetables, even though that spinach crap you make, that is _truly_ nasty. Thanks for that time you threatened to eat Julia McDuffy for calling me a freak. Thanks for coming to pick me up the day I got suspended and not telling Buffy about it."  
  
A tear slid down Dawn's face. "You were the first real friend I had, the first friend that, y'know, wasn't an implanted memory or anything. And if this doesn't work, well... I'm really going to miss you. Really going to miss you."  
  
Dawn wrapped her arms around Spike's torso, burying her head against the cold of his chest. "Hug me back."  
  
Spike gazed at the wall, unblinking.  
  
"That was a _command_!" Dawn shrieked. "_Hug me back!_"  
  
Spike's arms raised heavily, flopping around her.  
  
Dawn pulled back, cupping his face in her hands. "Spike... I _swear_ to you. When I get back into Buffy... you can teach me who Johnny Rotten is."


	14. Show Tunes

"Wesley. There is something I wish to discuss with you."  
  
Wesley looked up from unbuttoning his shirt. "Certainly, Illyria."  
  
"The humans we encounter stare at me and treat me strangely. They did not look at you or the girl this way, or the vampire, although he is also non-human."  
  
"Well, Spike's -- non-humanness is a bit more subtle. He can, generally speaking, control his visage."  
  
"As I can."  
  
Wesley grimaced. "As you can."  
  
"This is what I wish to discuss. Since our battle, we have moved exclusively in human realms..."  
  
"You want my permission... to look like Fred when we go out."  
  
"If they find me strange, I am memorable. If we are attempting to hide, it would be better if none of us were memorable."  
  
"You... do stand out," Wesley sighed. "As much as I hate it, you have a point."  
  
"Do I have your permission?"  
  
Wesley stared at her sadly. "Won't it be difficult for you?"  
  
Illyria cocked her head curiously.  
  
"Maintaining that form," Wesley explained. "Won't that be... draining?"  
  
"I find it easier and easier. Sometimes it is difficult not to be her."  
  
Wesley froze. "Explain."  
  
"I have been... confused since my powers left. Overwhelmed by emotions, thoughts I am unable to control. The more the emotions fill me, the more I have... urges. Urges to contract the second person plural in your language. Urges to..." Illyria broke off, staring at Wesley's lips. "Do things. Being her is... relaxing."  
  
Wesley stared.  
  
"The way that you are looking at me is disconcerting."  
  
"Ah. It's another emotion, one I believe you are unfamiliar with, Illyria. You have my permission. I am going to shower. After that, perhaps you would like to go down and get some pancakes."  
  
"I like pancakes."  
  
The tiniest ghost of a smile touched Wesley's lips. "Yes. Yes, you do."  
  
He headed into the bathroom, stopping when Illyria called him.  
  
"Wesley? Which emotion is this that I am unfamiliar with?"  
  
Wesley closed the bathroom door against her, leaning his forehead against the door.  
  
"_Hope_, Illyria," he whispered. "It's called... hope."  
  
---------------------  
  
"I thought you said it was going to be _one_ cigarette."  
  
"It was," Willow said, blowing a smoke ring. "I've had a bad day, okay?"  
  
Buffy sat down next to her on the rock. "What happened?"  
  
"I... I mean, I shouldn't be feeling like this. I _know_ that. I just..."  
  
"Just... what?"  
  
"Well, it turns out that I'm not Super Willow at all. I'm more like... a rogue WonderTwin."  
  
"Splainy?"  
  
"Xander and me, we're all... yin-yangy. Apparently I wasn't _'designed'_ to do magic without him. It's just so... so _fifties_, y'know? It's _gross_. I mean, a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle, right? And here's I've been with the goddess and the yay for boobies and apparently veiny Willow is what happens when I get all women's libby."  
  
"Wow. You have never made less sense. And that's saying a lot."  
  
"Xander's my 'magical soulmate', apparently. When I do magic with him, everything's _fine_, because la-la-la we're two halves of a whole breeder-creation magic sexual-energy... _hoo-haa_. And the reason most of my magic goes all boom is because I didn't, y'know, _stand by my warlock_, and all the headaches and the nosebleeds and the scary black eyes and the veiny was what I get for not _knowing my place_."  
  
"Xander's a warlock?"  
  
Willow rolled her eyes heavenward. "Apparently."  
  
"Well, that's great!" Buffy took a look at Willow's face. "Or... not great... why is this not great?"  
  
"No, I mean... it's great, I guess. Huzzah for Xander, y'know? It's just... I mean... I feel like _Dawn_, all of a sudden."  
  
"Eh?"  
  
"Well, you know. Even when she was _way_ older than _we'd_ been when we were all out, y'know, stakin' the vamps, everyone treated her like she couldn't be left alone for five seconds. Don't touch the books, Dawn. Don't leave the house, Dawn. Everything you try to do you screw up, Dawn."  
  
"And... _why_ would you feel like that?"  
  
"Because... because Giles made it sound like everything I've ever screwed up, I screwed up because I... crossed the street without Xander holding my hand!"  
  
"Ah, Giles. The _master_ of tact."  
  
"Well, it wouldn't hurt so much if it weren't _true_. I mean, when Xander and I do the magic, I can... I can _feel_ that it's true. Doing magic with Tara felt great... sharing _anything_ with Tara felt great... but doing magic with Xander makes me feel like... like peanut butter and jelly, you know? It just fits, the magic fits, like it's _part_ of me, like it _comes_ from me, not something I sucked out and _used_. It's like... it's like he completes my circuit, and it... oh God, Buffy, it makes me feel so _guilty_."  
  
"Guilty? Whoa. You lost me there. Why would that make you feel _guilty_?"  
  
"Because _Tara_ completes me! _Tara's_ my magical partner! I feel like I'm... cheating on her! If she were here..."  
  
"Uh, Will? Now's a bad time to bring up the existence of Kennedy, right?"  
  
"Kennedy's not the _same_," Willow sighed. "I mean... I felt some of this when I started my relationship with her, but... Kennedy's a fighter, a Slayer. She doesn't understand magic, she doesn't really understand me. I mean... she cares about me... and I care about her... it's just _different_. Magic's _so much_ of me now, Buffy. _Tara_ could share that, could share that part of me no one else could share, and not sharing it with Kennedy made... it made a _holy_ place in me, y'know? A place that was still all Tara's, a place I was saving for her."  
  
"And now you're supposed to share it with Xander."  
  
"Kennedy... there's no danger of her ever getting all the way inside me. We're too different. Xander... Xander _could get in_. He's already in my heart, already my best friend, and now, with this magic thing, that's so much stronger... I'm _afraid_ of him, Buffy. I'm afraid he's... going to take her place."  
  
"Will... is this why you've been all... y'know... cheering 'Hey, Hi, I'm Not Bi!' lately? I mean, normally, you're Willow, who's a lesbian... and lately, you've been kinda... a lesbian, who's Willow."  
  
"Buffy..." Willow said miserably, "I slept with him."  
  
Buffed paled. "You huh-what?"  
  
"Last night. We started working a spell to grow his eye back, we both blacked out, and we woke up naked and smooshy and... I had stuff on me."  
  
"You slept with Xander."  
  
"Yeah, that's kinda what I was implying with the naked and smooshy."  
  
"Have you told Kennedy?"  
  
"No. Buffy, how can I? She'll be so hurt, and she won't take it out on me, where it belongs, she's gonna..."  
  
"... kick Xander's ass."  
  
"Yeah. Pretty much."  
  
"So every time you guys do a spell, you're gonna..."  
  
"No! At least, I hope not. We -- well, Xander did a spell today..."  
  
"Okay, you're gonna have to give me a minute to process that..."  
  
"He was really great. He conjured up potstickers, they were really good."  
  
"Can he do mint-chocolate-chip ice cream?"  
  
"Probably. And that was the thing. We started, y'know, with the spell stuff and all the twinglies, and Giles told him to use the lust as a weapon, as a power source. And Xander did, and the spell worked great, and we didn't, y'know, jump each other or anything. It was like... like the lust was a fuel, just like my rage was when I..."  
  
"Eros and Thanatos," Buffy interrupted.   
  
Willow looked shocked.  
  
"C'mon, Will, I didn't sleep through _every_ psych class."  
  
"No, you stared at Riley, too."  
  
"Riley..." Buffy sighed. "God, the last time I saw him, that was such a mess... stupid Spike..."  
  
She trailed off. "Why are you looking at me like that?"  
  
"N-no reason. Um, yeah, you're right. Eros, the life urge, yeah. I should... go research that..."  
  
"Willow, you know something."  
  
"No, I don't..."  
  
"Willow, c'mon, you're the worst liar in the world... what are you hiding?"  
  
"You don't want to know."  
  
"Tell me."  
  
"God, me and my big mouth. You're not going to shut up until I tell you, are you?"  
  
Buffy crossed her arms defiantly. "Nope."  
  
"Fine." Willow reached out, touching Buffy's arm. There was a brief green flash.  
  
"What did you just... oh my God!" Buffy cried. "He... he wasn't..."  
  
Willow nodded.  
  
"Why didn't he _tell_ me? I punched him... I dumped him... why didn't he just _explain_?"  
  
"He had his reasons."  
  
"What were they?"  
  
When Willow didn't answer, Buffy grabbed her arm. "I _know_ you know. Tell me why he didn't explain."  
  
"Buffy, it's bad enough I raped Spike's brain without going around giving his secrets out..."  
  
"But, Will... I... one more."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Give me one more. C'mon. Just one. You can make it something he wouldn't mind me knowing! C'mon, one more."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because! I thought he was dead, okay, I missed him! I... I still miss him! I haven't gotten to see him! C'mon, Will, you have his whole brain, gimme just... gimme just a little bit."  
  
"Fine," Willow sighed. "Fine..."  
  
---------------------  
  
_"This isn't more of that spinach stuff, is it?" Dawn says weakly from the bed.  
  
"No, pet. Chicken noodle. Out of the can. Totally safe." Spike sets the tray down next to her, pulling a thermometer out of his pocket and sitting at her side. "Open up, Nibblet."  
  
She stays his hand. "Spike? Why are you so nice to me?"  
  
"Fattenin' you up to eat you later, of course," Spike grins. "C'mon, have some tasty thermometer."  
  
"No... seriously. Xander said you were only nice to me to get in Buffy's pants, but... Buffy's dead. So why are you still nice to me?"  
  
"Well... now I'm trying to get into Xander's pants," Spike jokes nervously.  
  
"Spike!"  
  
His smile drains. "I made a promise, Nibblet."  
  
"But... you're supposed to be all evil and stuff..."  
  
"That's right." Spike shakes the thermometer. "I'm evil, and don't you ever forget that. Now, open up."  
  
He slides the thermometer into her mouth, gently settling a pillow across Dawn's lap and topping it with the tray of soup. "Look, Bit. Bein' evil's all about doin' whatever it takes to get what you want, right? And I want you to eat your soup. Grrr."  
  
He pulls the thermometer out, staring at it in horror. "Bugger all."  
  
"I don't want to go to the hospital," Dawn says in panic. "They won't let in anyone but the BuffyBot... she's not ready..."  
  
"I'll do a spot of B&E once you're asleep and get you some antibiotics, pet. Don't worry." Spike reaches out, strokes her hair. "You need anything from the drugstore?"  
  
Dawn laughs. "I love you."  
  
A look of utter wonder crosses Spike's face, quickly extinguished by the falling curtain of apathy. "That right, pet? Why's that?"  
  
"Because you're funny. All bringing me soup and taking my temperature and casually planning a robbery."  
  
"Told you I was evil." He tucks the blanket in around her knees.  
  
"Will you sing to me?"  
  
"Will you eat your soup?"  
  
"Yeah. Sing the one I like."  
  
"Right. Okay. But first..."  
  
Dawn rolls her eyes. "If I tell anyone Spike knows show tunes, he will rip off my head and drink from my brain stem."  
  
"Right."_  
  
---------------------  
  
"Bit?" Spike groaned, struggling up from the bed. "Bit, are you all right?"  
  
He heard the sound of running water in the bathroom and raised his voice. "Thought you might've gotten knocked out, too, pet. No more hoodoo tonight, all right? I don't fancy another unscheduled nap."  
  
Dawn stepped out of the bathroom, wringing her hands. "Hello, Spike."  
  
"Well, hello to you too, Nibblet. Look, I'm serious about the hocus-pocus, right?" Spike glanced at the dark television, then back at Dawn with a teasing smile. "Although, since you turned off the bint, I'm prepared to forgive you."  
  
"Spike, we... we need to talk. It's very important."  
  
Spike's eyes narrowed. "You're... talkin' funny... walkin' funny, too..."  
  
Dawn bit her lip. "I, uh, I _think_ I understand what happened, and I'm... I'm pretty sure you're going to be angry, really angry, when I tell you. I need you to swear that you're not going to, um, stake yourself or run out in the sunshine..."  
  
"Nibblet," Spike whispered, "What have you done?"  
  
"Spike, I need you to swear that you're going to stay calm and listen to me. I think we can fix this... or at least, Willow and Xander can..."  
  
"Bit, you're not makin' a bit o'sense..."  
  
"Just swear... please?"  
  
"Fine. No strolls in the sunbeams or sharp pointy wooden things. Start talkin'."  
  
Dawn sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed. "Spike? Look at me."  
  
"I am lookin' at you, I..." Spike trailed off, eyes widening.  
  
"Can you... can you tell? I thought maybe you'd be able to tell..."  
  
"Bloody hell," Spike whispered in awe. "Hullo, Glinda."


	15. Sack O' Hammers

_"Any more of those?" Xander asks as he walks down the basement stairs, eye on Spike's beer.  
  
"Got a stash. Liquid earplugs, I call 'em." Spike hooks his toe beneath his bunk, hauls out a small cooler. He removes a bottle and hands it to Xander, who collapses onto the bunk next to him with a sigh.  
  
"You got your coat back," Xander says.  
  
Spike lights a cigarette. "Very observant."  
  
"So, that was heavy today, huh? Portal and all, First Slayers, yadayah."  
  
"Yeah... looks like our little Slayer's got a bit o'demon in her," Spike smirks, tilts his head to the side. "Wonder if she'd like some more?"  
  
Xander leaps off the bunk. "You're disgusting."  
  
"Just tryin' to be who she wants me to be," Spike shrugs, taking a drag. "Bloody hard to keep up when that changes every day."  
  
"Look, when she said she wanted the Old Spike, I'm pretty sure she just meant the ass-kicking aspects. You didn't have to pull out the leatherwear and the sneering and the innuendo."  
  
Spike raises an eyebrow. "Cracked the Slayer's code, eh? Don't suppose you'd loan me your decoder ring."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"Well, I'm stupidly in love with the bint, ain't I? And don't give me any of that oh-you're-a-demon-you-can't-love business, I bloody well could before they stuffed the soul in me and I certainly can now. Said she didn't like me because I was an evil, soulless thing... and now she wants me to be an evil, soulless thing again? What the bloody hell does she want me to do, get the kind o' soul I stick on with bloody Velcro and can shove in my pocket when my conscience is _inconvenient_ for her?"  
  
"You wanna know what Buffy wants in a man, huh?" Xander laughs. "Why, I've actually devoted several years to studying the topic... if you'd like to hear my findings."  
  
"Oh, please... enlighten me," Spike drawls, sitting up a little higher.   
  
"Well, first off... he's got to be strong. Really strong. As strong as her, or she just won't be able to really respect him. No mere mortals like yours truly need apply. Even Riley came up short on that one. So basically, he has to be more than human."  
  
"Right..."  
  
"So that rules out the humans, which leaves demons. Oh, but wait -- she wants a normal life, too. Or whatever the hell she thinks is a normal life when she gets up at three a.m. and goes out to kill things with pointy sticks. So she wants a guy who can give her kids, picket fences, walks in the sunshine -- oops, that rules _you_ out, doesn't it, Dead Boy? Ruled out Angel, too. So... no humans _or_ demons."  
  
Spike grins wryly. "She wants a male version of herself, is that what you're saying?"  
  
"Bingo. Too bad she can't pull a Willow; she and Faith would make a videotape worth buying."  
  
Spike chuckles at the image. "So basically what you're saying is that _no one_ has a chance with her?"  
  
"Not long-term, no. Look, I'm not _blind_, Spike. I know you guys have some... freaky chemistry a-brewing... and maybe you'll even get back there for a while, especially now that you have a soul or whatever. But in the long run? She'll want the pitter-patter of tiny feet and a guy she can bring to Family Day at the Zoo. And once she gets _that_ guy? He won't do it for her either. Y'know, Riley told me something you said to him once..."  
  
"The girl just needs a little monster in her man," Spike finishes, smiling a little.  
  
"Yeah. And you're right. But here's the rub, Spikey old boy... _a little_. Like she has. You're the all-access-pass to monsterpalooza, and that's why you'll never keep her, even if you get her."  
  
"And on the other hand... there's Anya."  
  
In a flash, Xander is all adrenaline. "You stay the hell away from Anya!"  
  
Spike rolls his eyes. "I'm not talking about __me_, you bloody idiot. I'm talking about you_. Carpe the diem already."  
  
"I'm... I'm not ready. It's complicated, it's..."  
  
"Bloody well _get_ ready! We're facing the origin of all evil! It rather puts the _dead_ in bloody _deadline_, dunnit?"  
  
Xander shifts from foot to foot, and Spike groans in disgust, pointing to the ceiling. "Look, mate, there's a beautiful woman in love with you 'bout eight feet thattaway. If you spend five more minutes down here in the cellar with the undead instead of up there with her, I'm gonna start castin' public doubt on your orientation."  
  
"You do that anyway," Xander stammers.  
  
"Whelp? Get up the stairs or I'll kick you up 'em."  
  
Xander shifts his weight from foot to foot, staring at Spike... who merely cocks an eyebrow.  
  
"Thanks," Xander blurts, and pounds up the stairs._   
  
---------------------  
  
Buffy yanked her arm away from Willow, gasping.  
  
"Was that what you wanted?" Willow purred, black eyes glimmering. "I could give you more."  
  
"No... no... that's okay... Will, you've gone all scary-eyes..."  
  
"I think you need some more."  
  
---------------------  
  
_"So, how come you eat food all the time?" Dawn asks, winding a strand of stetching pizza cheese around her finger. "I mean... I thought you liked blood and stuff."  
  
"I do like blood," Spike grins, lifting his mug of it. "Still like food, though. Y'think you'll eat another piece?"  
  
"Yeah, I feel piggy," Dawn says, sucking the cheese-wrapping off her finger. "Do it."  
  
Spike reaches down into the pizza box between them, taking all the mushrooms off one slice and swapping them for all the green peppers on another. His fingers are left covered in tomato sauce; he licks it off each finger, stopping when he notices Dawn's intense look.  
  
"Whatcha starin' at, Bit?"  
  
"It just... looks like blood. Do you do that with blood?"  
  
Spike's eyes narrow. "Are these the sort of wholesome, natural questions about blood-drinkin' every teen is curious about, or are you seguein' into my least favorite topic ever?"  
  
"Well, since you brought it up..."  
  
"Bloody hell, Bit, not again."  
  
"I've been thinking..."  
  
Spike groans. "The three most dangerous words in the human language..."  
  
"My blood is the Key to opening the portal, right? So if you sucked out all my blood... I wouldn't be the Key anymore. I'd be safe from Glory. You'd make a much better Key than me... you're tougher, you can fight..."  
  
"Don't think it works like that, Bit. What movies did you rent, then?"  
  
"Don't change the subject, Spike. C'mon... it's perfect, and you know it."  
  
"Not bloody vampin' you, Bit. Quit bloody askin' me. Eat your pizza."  
  
Dawn pushes herself off the sarcophagus. "I'm not hungry anymore."  
  
"Oh, God, not the pouty face, _don't_ make the pouty face..."  
  
"You don't like me."  
  
Spike rolls his eyes. "Nibblet, of _course_ I do. Wouldn't suffer through your bloody wretched taste in films if I didn't, would I?"  
  
"You won't protect me from Glory."  
  
"I _will_ protect you from Glory, Bit... any way I can that doesn't involve killin' you."  
  
"I'd still be alive."  
  
"No, you bloody _wouldn't_, and I ought to know. Had a bit of experience on the topic."  
  
Dawn flounces across the crypt. "You won't do it because of Buffy. Because you have a crush on Buffy."  
  
"That's _not why_," Spike growls.  
  
"Whatever. You're just afraid of losing points with her."  
  
"Bit, if I vamped you, I'd be afraid of being dust from her."  
  
"You don't even like me," Dawn accuses. "You're just being nice to me to get in good with Buffy. Just like you sucked up to Mom. Don't think I didn't notice."  
  
"Bit..."  
  
"Maybe you think that if I die, Buffy'll be so sad she'll come to you, huh? It won't ever happen, Spike. Never, ever, never happen. That crap you pulled with Drusilla and that creepy shrine... yeah, Spike, I know all about it."  
  
"Bit, look, I acted like a moron, but I can explain..."  
  
"Don't bother." Dawn grabs her backpack, tossing it angrily over her shoulder. "If you _really_ cared about me, you'd save me. And since you won't save me... I guess I know how you feel about me."  
  
"Bit, it's not like that..."  
  
"Forget it, Spike. I'm going home. There are people there who really love me, who'd save me if they could."  
  
Dawn pounds up the stairs and out of the crypt, and Spike leaps off the sarcophagus.  
  
"Bit?" he calls, running after her.  
  
He takes a few steps outside the crypt. "Bit? Bit, come back..."  
  
She is gone.  
  
Spike vamps out in frustration, punching the wall of his crypt, rough stone tearing away the skin of his knuckles before his face smooths and he takes off after Dawn at a run.  
  
"Run off into the cemetery at night all alone," Spike mutters under his breath as he leaps tombstones, following her. "Fabulous plan, fabulous. Ought to just let the crawlies getcha..."  
  
He catches up to her, duster flying. Dawn doesn't turn.  
  
"What are you doing, Spike?"  
  
"Bloody well walking you home."_  
  
---------------------  
  
"Willow... stop..." Buffy gasped, trying to pry Willow's fingers off her arm...  
  
---------------------_  
  
"Bugger off, Dru," Spike moans, curled in the fetal position. His hair is grown out, wild and curly, his natural brown pushing the white-blonde to the tips. "Don't want to talk to the stars. Know what they'll say. Poor little demon girl, poor little demon girl. Slash-slice, a millenium and poof -- gone. I always liked her, pet, I always did."  
  
A bookbag drops at his feet. "Hey, Spike."  
  
"It's the Nibblet, Dru, do you remember her? Such bright green energy, she is. She's a doorway to hell; you'd like her. Go nice with Peaches and his big bloody rock, and that's the truth, ain't it? Friends don't have a rock this big."  
  
"Wow, you really __are_ crazy," Dawn sighs.  
  
"Read it in the stars, pet, it's all in the stars, what's coming. Boy meets girl, girl turns blue, boy loses girl. Over and over. Light and dark, male and female, when the angels fall and lose their inky wing. It's not what he thinks it is, Nibblet, it's not. Signed in blood but they've got other ideas. Got to get the girl a blade, Pet, got to get it. In the end I'm all alone, all alone... it's the trinket, don't you see? Burnin' alive with her words in my head, burnin' alive on a lie."  
  
"I brought you some blood."  
  
"Tastes like death, pet. Tastes like death... all the death runnin' together, nobody stays dead anymore. They're bringin' us back, one by one. One final curtain call. Gotta have everyone, Bit... gotta take a bow. Your sister, pet, she's a trendsetter, she is. Everybody wants to be like her, flesh knitted together. I'll do it too, they're not done with me, pet, they've got plans... more prophecies than they know of, love, prophecies on prophecies, but they're not above a little deception... there's a window, don't you see? A window of opportunity."  
  
Dawn reaches in her backpack, pulling out a small knife. She slashes her palm, cutting deeply.  
  
"Won't work, pet, won't work. Not now or then. You'll try, you'll fail, you'll live in a marble in my pocket. Careful not to break you. Little girls rip like pink paper; that's what Dru says..."  
  
Dawn kneels in front of him, rests her bloody palm on Spike's lips. "Spike? Drink."  
  
He shakes his head from side to side maniacally. "Think I'm crazy, you think I'm crazy."  
  
"No, I _know_ you're crazy. Have a drink. You have to be thirsty."  
  
"You don't like mushrooms, and I won't do it. You can have my peppers, Bit. Just the peppers, though. No death. We brought the same gift, Bit. Death is our gift. Hope you kept the receipt."  
  
"Spike, _c'mon_..."  
  
Spike's eyes suddenly clear; for a moment, he is utterly rational. He tosses Dawn's hand away roughly.  
  
"Bugger off, Bit, I'll never be _that_ sack o' hammers."  
  
"Spike?"  
  
"Don't interrupt your sister when she's speaking, Bit. It's terribly rude."  
  
"Buffy's not here, Spike..."  
  
Another lucid flash. "Nibblet?"  
  
"Yes, Spike?"  
  
"Run_."  
  
"But..."  
  
"RUN!" Spike screams, grabbing his head, throwing himself on the floor, curling into the fetal position.   
  
And Dawn does, the slap of her sneakers echoing down the basement corridor as Spike's yellow eyes stare sightlessly at a filing cabinet.  
  
"Early one morning, just as the sun was shining..." Spike croons tunelessly into the dust.  
  
A roach crawls across his forehead. Spike never blinks.  
  
_---------------------  
  
Buffy dropped to her knees, pulling at Willow's clawlike hand, finally ripping it from her flesh.  
  
"Ow," Willow said in her normal voice. "Broke a nail. Ouchie."  
  
"He wasn't just babbling," Buffy gasps.  
  
"Huh? Buffy, what'd you say? I feel weird... did I go all scary eyes again?"  
  
"He wasn't babbling, in the basement, he was... foretelling..."  
  
"Again I say, 'huh'?"  
  
"Poor little demon girl... Will, that's _Anya_. Got to get the girl a blade... me, with the scythe... the trinket, burning alive... oh God, Will, he _knew_ he was going to die in the Hellmouth if he wore that amulet... he _knew_ and he _wore it anyway_..."  
  
"Buffy? Buffy, honey, you're not making any sense..."  
  
"When the angels fall and lose their inky wing..." Buffy's eyes opened wide.  
  
"Buffy, what is it?"  
  
"Will, I have to go."  
  
"Um, okay, why?"  
  
"I have to go see if Angel still has his tattoo."  
  
---------------------  
  
"It's... it's good to see you, Spike."  
  
Spike reached for his cigarettes. "Well, it's good to see you too, Glinda... don't know why I'm so bloody surprised, either, it's like soddin' Body Snatchers Anonymous around here... did the Bit, er, channel ya or something? Bring out the Bit."  
  
"Spike... uh, don't freak, but..." Tara held up a glass orb. "I think... well, I'm almost positive... Dawnie in in here."  
  
Spike snapped his lighter closed. "Bloody Hell! That's an..."  
  
"Orb of Thesulah, yes."  
  
"Bit's in the ball," Spike said incredulously. "Bloody hell. Did I already say bloody hell? Bloody hell! How do we get her back out?"  
  
"Spike, I... I don't think we _should_ just yet."  
  
Spike cocked an eyebrow. "Look, pet, if you're thinkin' about a final shag with Red before you trundle on back to Heaven, I gotta tell you, I think the body you're wearin' s'gonna squick her a bit."  
  
Tara laughed... a rich, mellow sound that sounded utterly bizarre coming from Dawn's throat. "That wasn't exactly what I was getting at, Spike. Dawn's... obviously not in a very good place..."  
  
"Anyone ever tell you you've got a _real_ flair for understatement?" Spike took a heavy, disgusted drag of his cigarette.  
  
"Spike... I'm the one who put Dawn in the Orb. I did it on purpose."  
  
Spike's eyes flashed yellow, and Tara put a restraining hand on his arm. "Let me explain, okay?"  
  
"Make it quick."  
  
"All right. Dawn _summoned_ me, Spike. I was supposed to be the one in the Orb. She was planning to trap my soul in it. It was such a weird feeling... I was here but not, I could hear what both of you were thinking, what both of you were planning. And I knew how bad it was... and before I knew it, I'd sort of... stepped into Dawn. And I put her in the Orb. I didn't know what else to do, Spike. If she'd gone through with what she was planning..."  
  
"And what, exactly, was she planning?" Spike growled.  
  
Tara sighed. "She was going to trap me in the Orb, force you to vamp her, and then have you perform the spell to put my soul into her body. She wrote it out for you. Phonetically. In... green glitter pen. It's on the other bed."  
  
"Bloody hell," Spike moaned.  
  
"That wasn't the worst part, though," Tara added quietly.  
  
"It gets worse? Fantastic. What's the worse bit, then?"  
  
"What _you_ were planning to do."  
  
Spike gaped. "Beg pardon?"  
  
"Once you were helpless, Dawn explained what she was doing to you. She needed you to perform the second part of the spell once she died and the compulsion on you dropped. But... you weren't going to do it."  
  
Tara dropped her eyes, twisting her hands. "You'd already worked it out, what you were going to do as soon as the compulsion dropped. You were going to free my soul... and give her yours. And then, you were gonna..."  
  
"Take a walk on the sunny side of the street, eh, pet? Sounds like me. Always been a bloody drama queen."  
  
"You _are_ kind of stupid when you love someone," Tara grinned.  
  
"You saved me and the Bit both, then." Spike twisted his head to regard her. "Don't suppose they make sufficient thank-you cards for that sort of thing."  
  
"Well... you saved Willow when you closed the Hellmouth. Maybe we can buy each other a beer."  
  
"Hate to break it to you, love, but you're too young to drink."  
  
"Yeah, but look how skinny I am!"  
  
Spike laughed. "Bloody women. Back from the dead and all you care about is that you've got thighs a proper-sized person could floss with."  
  
"That's not all I care about, Spike, I just... noticed." Tara shrugged. "Anyway, we have bigger problems..."  
  
"Like the ball full o'Bit." Spike took the Orb from Tara's hand, holding it up to the light.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"D'ya think she can hear me in there?"  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
"Damn. I've got years of yellin' to do." Spike turned the Orb in his fingers. "So, what do we do?"  
  
"Well, I... you're not going to like this... but I think that's kind of... _Buffy's_ call, isn't it?"  
  
"And here I thought this day couldn't get worse."  
  
"Willow and Xander will be able to fix this. Willow's done this spell several times..."  
  
"Right," Spike scoffed. "Red's gonna line _right up_ for that, sure. Hey, Red? Remember how Tara died and y'nearly killed everyone on the planet? Well, she's back, and this time, _you_ get to kill her! Put on your pointy hat and get to work, then!"  
  
Tara paled. "I hadn't thought about it quite like that."  
  
"That's what we've gotta bloody do, innit? Think this thing out from a million bleedin' angles?"  
  
Spike touched Tara's shoulder. "C'mon, pet. You've been dead for two years, I think you deserve to be bought some pie." 


	16. Prophecies On Prophecies

"All right," Angel said, pacing behind the large table. "So, the 'poor little demon girl' part, we know that's about your friend Anya. Is it _all_ about Anya?"  
  
"The, uh, slashing part, that's a... pretty accurate description of how she died," Andrew said, carefully not looking at Xander.  
  
"Bright green energy... that's what Tara saw when she looked at Dawn," Willow said. "And he was talking about her then, right? Is Dawn 'Peaches'?"  
  
"_I'm_ Peaches," Angel grumbled. "Ridiculous stupid nickname. And the rock bit, that's me too, I think. That's a joke from when he first saw Acathla."  
  
"So how do we know what's prophecy and what's jokes and what's just... crazy babble?"  
  
"Read the next part, Willow."  
  
"Boy meets girl, girl turns blue, boy loses girl."  
  
"That's Fred," Gunn said. "Gotta be. And the boy is Wes, or maybe we're _all_ the boy. I mean, we all loved her, even Spike."  
  
"Well, here's the thing, though. The next line is 'over and over'."  
  
"That weird time thing that happened to Illyria?" Gunn suggested. "Y'know, where we got caught in the time loop?"  
  
"Or maybe it wasn't just about Fred," Willow said. "I mean, 'turning blue' could have a lot of meanings beyond the literal. You turn blue when you freeze, o-or when you're depressed..."  
  
"When you drown," Faith added. "B. drowned once..."  
  
Buffy sighed. "In the _past_, though."  
  
"Acathla was in the past..."  
  
"Let's move on..."  
  
"Light and dark, male and female, when the angels fall and lose their inky wing."  
  
"I must say, the light/dark, male/female bits are certainly reminiscent of your and Xander's current revelation, Willow," Giles sighed. "And we've established that Angel's tattoo is gone, which perhaps helps to fix it in time."  
  
"Well, we've got a big battle versus good and evil going on, too," Wood pointed out. "The light/dark thing works there..."  
  
"Okay..." Willow sighed. "Um... next part. It's not what he thinks it is, it's not. Signed in blood but they've got other ideas."  
  
Angel froze. "You're sure those two sentences are all together like that?"  
  
"When I hear Spike say it in my head, it sounds all mooshy."  
  
"What if it's... more mooshy?" Gunn said, flinching a little at his own use of the word. "I mean, what if it's the Angel bit, plus that part? Like Angel turning human isn't what he thinks it is?"  
  
"You mean, not the Shanshu," Angel sighed. "The Black Thorn made me sign it over in blood."  
  
"You said it yourself, man. It wasn't at all what you expected. And what kind of apocalypse was _that_ if we all walked away from it?"  
  
"The same kind we deal with _every_ year," Xander groaned.  
  
"But this is supposed to be the apocalypse of apocalypses. Y'know, the one the other apocalypses cry themselves to sleep at night about."  
  
"Aren't they all?" Faith snapped. "The First Evil, the Apocalypse of Apocalypses..."  
  
"Gunn, you're all brushed up on the demon lore... were any of the demons we fought Mohra demons?"  
  
"Damn, Angel, it was pretty dark n' gory in that alley..."  
  
"Mohra demons?" Wood asked curiously.  
  
"Their blood turns vampires human," Angel sighed. "I'd know."  
  
Buffy's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"It's nothing."  
  
"It didn't _sound_ like nothing..."  
  
"Y'know... I can think of a _lot_ of reasons that a Big Bad would want to turn Angel human," Xander mused.  
  
"Not the least of which is the Shanshu," Gunn pointed out. "If you and Spike thought the prophecy was already fulfilled, you'd both stop trying to fulfill it..."  
  
"Look, give Captain Peroxide and I a _little_ credit," Angel snapped. "It's not a carrot on a stick that keeps us good, okay? We have _souls_."  
  
"Yeah, but there's _stuff_ ya gotta do, right? Like drink out of the cup..."  
  
"The Cup was crap, Spike said it was full of Mountain Dew."  
  
Gunn raised an eyebrow. "You trust him on that one?"  
  
"It's the Cup of Perpetual Torment, Gunn, I don't think he'd be able to fake it... we don't even know if the Cup was part of the real prophecy..."  
  
"Spike's gotta drink out of a cup?" Buffy asked. "What is all this?"  
  
"It was fake!" Angel snapped. "This grail-looking, stupid golden cup to send us on a wild goose chase..."  
  
"Oh, like the one he drank from in Africa?" Xander asked.  
  
Every head at the table swiveled in Xander's direction, and he paled. "Yeah... uh... after I drained Willow, I had this weird talk with Spike. At the time, I thought he was there, but Giles says he was in Africa... so it was more of a... vision thing. I, ah, saw him fight this monster, and then, uh, he drank out of this big... grail-looking... cup... thing."  
  
"After which he promptly went quite insane," Giles mused, cleaning his glasses.  
  
"Look, I just thought he was _thirsty_..."  
  
Giles put his glasses back on. "What do you know about this Cup of Perpetual Torment, Angel?"  
  
"Not much. Um, there was some stuff about bone crushing and pain until the vampire with a soul does his, y'know, apocalypse thing."  
  
"I believe it's imperative that we study this Shanshu Prophecy in greater detail," Giles said firmly.  
  
Willow tapped her legal pad. "Spike talks about a prophecy, later..."  
  
"Okay, Will, what's next?"  
  
"'Got to get the girl a blade.' We're all pretty sure that's Buffy and the Scythe, right?"  
  
At their nods, Willow continued. "'In the end I'm all alone, all alone... it's the trinket, don't you see?' -- and that's the amulet, I guess. He closed the Hellmouth alone. And, uh, 'Burning alive with her words in my head, burning alive on a lie.'"  
  
Gunn tipped his head. "_Burning alive on a lie_... is that something to do with that amulet? I mean, I guess you could call it a lie, it was kind of a trap, right?"  
  
"That's me, I think," Buffy said quietly. "Something I told him, right before he died. That he didn't believe."  
  
"What'd you tell him, Buffy?" Angel peered at her.  
  
"It's... not important," Buffy blushed.  
  
Silence fell over the table, moments ticking by.  
  
"And moving _on_..." Xander said awkwardly.  
  
"Uh, yeah," Willow said. "The next bit is, 'all the death running together, nobody stays dead anymore'. Which I think goes with the next few sentences, about 'they're bringing us back, one by one' and the reference to everyone wanting to be like Buffy."  
  
"As in, not stayin' dead?" Faith asked. "B. takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin'."  
  
"Well, Spike came back from the dead... and so did Wesley..."  
  
"Look, we can't know about Wesley," Gunn protested.  
  
"I'm telling you, Spike talked to him, right before I sucked his brain."  
  
"And Cordy," Angel muttered. "She came back from the dead, too. Well, the dying."  
  
"'One final curtain call'," Willow mused. "Like at the end of the play, where everyone comes out, even if you died in Act One."  
  
"But remember, Spike said this stuff years ago," Buffy protested. "Maybe he was talking about The First? It could be any dead person it wanted..."  
  
Xander put his chin in his hand. "Well, except Tara."  
  
Again, every head at the table swiveled his way, and he scrambled up quickly. "What? Why does everybody keep _doing_ that?"  
  
"Why... why _wasn't_ it Tara?" Buffy said, eyes widening. "I mean... it came as Mom to me and Dawn, it appeared to Spike as just about everyone... Wood, you said it was your mother, right?"  
  
"That's right."  
  
"And I saw Jenny," Giles added quietly. Angel flinched.  
  
"But when it appeared to Willow, it was _Cassie_. She didn't even _know_ Cassie. Why wouldn't it have been Tara?"  
  
"It said it had a message from Tara..."  
  
"Yeah, but it didn't _appear_ as Tara. Why not? Wouldn't that have messed with you a lot more, Will?"  
  
"You're right, Buffy," Willow mused. "It doesn't make any sense."  
  
----------------------------------  
  
"Oh, wow," Tara gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth as her eyes rolled back in ecstasy. "Wow-wow-wow."  
  
Spike lit a cigarette, regarding Tara beneath raised eyebrows. "Y'know, pet, I gotta say... best attitude towards reincarnation I've seen, hands down, no bloody contest."  
  
Tara grinned, plucking the cherry off the mammoth ice cream sundae she was currently devouring. "That so?"  
  
"Damn right. No tap-dance number 'bout Heaven, no gettin' stuck in a desk, no throwin' me through a wall, no walkin' around makin' moon-eyes at Blue like you weren't dead fifteen minutes before. Top drawer. Very impressed."  
  
"And remarkably, I have _yet_ to do the nasty with Harmony," Tara teased.  
  
"Oh bloody hell," Spike muttered, face flaming.  
  
"Didn't know vampires could blush," Tara grinned. "I'll remember that. I didn't just check up on Willow, you know."  
  
"So you, uh... saw that, did you?"  
  
"_Not_ your best performance, Spike. In... in a lot more ways than you know yet."  
  
"Whoa -- what the bloody hell is _that_ supposed to..." Spike broke off, frowning at something over her shoulder. "Vamps. Two of 'em. Just came in the front. Headin' straight towards us."  
  
Tara tensed, laying her spoon down.  
  
"S'pose I'll just see what they want, then?" Spike pulled a stake out of his duster, laying it prominently on the table, his fingers tapping against it. "Evenin', gents."  
  
They both bowed formally, the one on the right rising first. "Good evening to you, William the Bloody, most worthy Aurelian."  
  
"Well," Spike marveled. "Ain't _this_ creepy n' feudal. Social call, is it?"  
  
"We come to you with a message. We did not wish to interrupt your..." the one on the right smiled at Tara, "... dinner."  
  
"She's not my dinner, mates, an' she's bloody well not yours."  
  
"Of course." More bowing.  
  
"Gotta say, likin' their attitude," Spike smirked to Tara before turning back to the vampires. "What do you want, then?"  
  
"We have a summons for you. From the Master."  
  
"The -- oh, _that_ 'the Master'?" Spike laughed. "_There's_ a bloody blast from the past. Hate to tell you, gents, but I think your special delivery's a bit tardy. Things have changed."  
  
"You have spoken to the Master? You have new orders for us?"  
  
"Aw, sure, yeah, he says he's feelin' _just_ a bit dusty at the mo' and it's very, _very_ warm where he is. Says he'll send you boys a postcard, though. Now if you wouldn't mind buggerin' off..."  
  
The two vampires turned to each other, puzzled.  
  
"Looks like you boys should brush up on your current events," Spike sighed. "The Master's dead, real permanent-like. The Annoying One, too, if that's your next question."  
  
"He doesn't know."  
  
"How could he not know? He's the Chosen Consort..."  
  
"Hullo, boys, sittin' right here, an' I'm nobody's bloody _consort_, least of all the bleedin' _Master's_. You ever take a look at his ugly mug? Makes even Peaches look pretty, which I suppose explains a lot of what was runnin' through Darla's empty head..."  
  
"The Mastership of the Order of Aurelius is passed through vampiric bloodlines..."  
  
Spike glared. "Save me the speechifyin', Mate. Heard quite enough of this babble in my day."  
  
"You are the Chosen Consort of Master Drusilla. You must take your place at her side."  
  
Spike blinked. "Say again?"  
  
"You are the..."  
  
"Dru? _My_ Dru?"  
  
"Drusilla is now the Master of the Order of Aurelius."  
  
"You're bloody well kiddin' me. S'not possible."  
  
"The ascendancy has fallen to your bloodline. Darla is no more. Angelus has turned human. Penn is..."  
  
"Whoa there, junior, back right up. Angelus has _what_?"  
  
"Angelus has become human. Thus, as you see, Mastership of the Order has fallen to..."  
  
"Blue fairy visited Peaches after all," Spike whispered.  
  
"The Master is very displeased with Angelus. She has opened an Order-wide vendetta against him."  
  
Spike processed this for a moment. "Order-wide vendetta, eh? Sounds a bit of nasty."  
  
"It is only what is just."  
  
"Do unto others? Eye for an eye?"  
  
The vampire smiled. "In a manner of speaking."  
  
"So Dru's gonna do to Angelus what Angelus did to her. Good on her. And you boys, I suppose you're the deliveryfolk?"  
  
"We have a... package for the Master, yes."  
  
"So bein' the Chosen Consort an' all, do I get a crack? Got a few scores to settle with ol' Angelus myself."  
  
"The package is to be delivered intact. Master's orders."  
  
"Right then," Spike grinned, cracking his knuckles. "Always knew Dru would come to her senses eventually. 'Chosen Consort.' I _like_ that."  
  
Spike slid out of the booth. "Sorry, Pet, date's over. My dark princess awaits n' all."  
  
"Spike!" Tara cried, reaching for his hand.  
  
"Ah-ah-ah, pet," Spike raised his hands defensively. "Hands off the Master's merchandise. You just run home to your nice boyfriend Wesley and tell 'im that I've decided to tackle his killer first-day project by myself, right?"  
  
Tara blinked, and Spike wrapped his arms around the other two vampires, leading them out the door. "Vendetta against Peaches, eh? If you want to hit 'im where it hurts, you really ought to go straight for the hair..."  
  
----------------------------------  
  
"I'm concerned about this 'prophecies on prophecies' and the 'window of opportunity'," Giles said. "Does this Shanshu Prophecy have a time limit, or another prophecy connected to its fulfillment?"  
  
"Hell if I know," Angel muttered. "I read a version, but apparently that's like reading a twelve-year-old's book report on the subject."  
  
"Well, apparently we miss the window," Xander said, reading over Willow's shoulder. "Since the next thing he says is 'won't work'."  
  
"No, _that's_ what he says when Dawn tries to force him to vamp her," Willow sighed. "The _real_ next line is..."  
  
"Hold on," Giles commanded. "When Dawn tries to _what_?"  
  
Willow froze, clapping her hand over her mouth.


	17. The Package

"So Dru's the bloody Master of the Order," Spike marveled, walking jauntily between the other two vamps. "Don't that beat all. So... where's this 'package', eh? Like to say my hellos an'..."  
  
Spike's words were cut off by the taser at his neck, and he dropped bonelessly onto the ground.  
  
"Well," the vampire grinned to the other, "That's both things we were supposed to get."  
  
"Wonder what she's gonna do to him?" The other vampire kicked at Spike's unconscious form with his boot.  
  
"I heard he tied her to a pole and tried to feed her to the Slayer."  
  
"I heard he was, like, _dating_ the Slayer."  
  
"Working with Angelus to kill our kind," the vampire spat.  
  
"Yeah, man," the other one laughed. "What _isn't_ she gonna do to him?"  
  
--------------------------  
  
"I gotta go with Giles here," Xander said. "When Dawn tries to _what_?"  
  
Willow sunk back into her chair, shrinking under everyone's stares. "Um... I..."  
  
"Willow," Giles said, his eyes peering into hers, "Does this have something to do with the door we opened?"  
  
"Yes," Willow whispered. "Look, guys, this is a very you-don't-want-to-know kind of thing..."  
  
Buffy's eyes blazed in fury. "Oh -- I think I speak for everyone when I say that this is a very we-incredibly-much-do-want-to-know-or-Willow-gets-injured kind of thing."  
  
"O-okay," Willow took a deep breath. "Um, okay. Um. Buffy, you know how said that when you held Dawn, it was like holding yourself?"  
  
"Yes..."  
  
"Well, uh, you _were_ holding yourself, sort of. When they made Dawnie out of you, they... took out part of your soul and put it into Dawn."  
  
Buffy blinked.  
  
"That's, um, why you've felt so bad. And why _she's_ felt so bad. 'Cause you were both missing a piece of yourself. They did it so that you would be, y'know, _drawn_ to her... in the most literal kind of way, she's your soulmate, your missing piece. I think... I think when you went to Heaven... you experienced, for the first time in your memory, what it was like to feel whole. I think that's why it hurt so much to come back, Buffy. Until then, you didn't remember what it was like to be complete... 'cause of, y'know, the monks and their head-mojo, not that I can throw stones..."  
  
"_This_ is what you were trying to tell me with the eye thing?" Xander blurted.  
  
"Yeah, Xander. It was. I got... distracted."  
  
"That _would_ explain a great deal," Giles mused. "Even before your death, Buffy, you had complained to me of feeling disconnected and empty..."  
  
"You were so different when you came to L.A.," Angel added, his brow furrowed.  
  
"We all noticed it," Xander muttered. "Riley _definitely_ noticed it..."  
  
Buffy shook her head. "I... but... huh?"  
  
"Buffy..." Willow said gently. "The Key was never meant to be corporeal this long. The arrangement was supposed to be temporary, just until Glory's window of opportunity passed... then Dawn would have disappeared and all of our memories of her would have vanished. The monks just meant to _borrow_ part of your soul, not cut it off from you forever. The part where they all got killed was really not in their plan."  
  
"How... how do you know?"  
  
"I know... because Spike knew."  
  
"But... Tara said I didn't come back wrong! If I only had half a soul..."  
  
"You came back the same as you left. _That's_ what Tara tested you for."  
  
"I... I still don't understand... the Dawn and Spike thing...?"  
  
"Ever since Dawn found out what she was, she's been begging Spike to sire her. So that you could have your whole soul back, and she would go on existing. Spike's been refusing for years, and Dawn keeps asking."  
  
"Why... why would she..."  
  
"All I know is what Spike remembers. She told him that your soul wanted to be whole, wanted to leave her body... which left her with a semi-death wish." Willow smiled sadly.  
  
"_Semi_-death wish?" Gunn asked, eyebrows soaring.  
  
"Well, she didn't want to stop existing. She just wanted Buffy's soul to be free. That's why she was hitting up Spike to vamp her. Still existing -- no soul."  
  
"He never told me," Buffy whispered.  
  
"He knew what knowing it would do to you, Buffy... 'cause he knew what knowing it was doing to him. He finally _made_ himself forget... took a potion or had a spell done or something. It was... it was eating him alive. Which is why he didn't tell you, and why _I_ didn't want to tell you... but oh no, everybody's gotta _make_ me!"  
  
"All this time... everything we've been through... my little sister's been begging him to kill her and he didn't tell me?"  
  
"He refused to do it... he was trying to help you in other ways."  
  
"Other... ways?"  
  
"Like the demon eggs," Xander sighed, realization dawning.   
  
"I _know_ he wasn't the Doctor, Xander, Willow already showed me..."  
  
"There was more than what I showed you," Willow said, explaining briefly as horror flared on every face.  
  
"My God, he's an _idiot_," Angel gasped. "And I thought he did dangerous stuff for _Dru_."  
  
"Love's Bitch," Willow agreed quietly.  
  
"Did he seriously not realize what he could have become?" Angel railed. "An _Aurelian_ vampire, allowing what vestiges of humanity they had to be _sucked out_?"  
  
Willow shot a nervous look at Buffy. "The situation was complicated..."  
  
"You're telling me I only have half a soul," Buffy said incredulously. "The reason I feel all... numb inside is because..."  
  
"Because Dawn is still alive," Giles finished gently. "But I doubt you would accept killing Dawn as a solution. I'm certain Spike came to the same conclusion."  
  
"I-I can't listen to this anymore," Buffy stammered, standing up unsteadily. "I have to think, it's too much, I need to be alone..."  
  
"Buffy, there's more... stuff you should..."  
  
"No more! I can't... I can't hear this, I don't want to _hear this_!"  
  
Buffy shoved her chair back, running out of the cavern. Angel moved to follow her, but Giles restrained him.  
  
"And_ that's_ why I didn't want to tell her," Willow sighed.  
  
"I think we've sheltered Buffy quite enough," Giles frowned. "I certainly wish Spike had shared this knowledge with me..."  
  
"He couldn't do that," Angel said quietly. "He knew you too well."  
  
"What exactly is _that_ supposed to mean?" Giles bristled.  
  
"Look. I've known Spike for over a century, okay? No one knows him better than me. I... made him what he is."  
  
"Oh, nice job on _that_," Xander spat. "Golf-claps all around."  
  
Angel ignored him. "Dawn was under Spike's protection. I don't think any of you can understand just how serious a thing that is where Spike's concerned. In Spike's mind, every one of you would be a potential threat to Dawn."  
  
"We _love_ Dawn," Xander protested. "We've all saved Dawn a million times..."  
  
"And how do you feel about Dawn now?" Angel challenged, staring Xander down. "Knowing that she doesn't really exist? Knowing that everything you loved about her is just a stolen shard of Buffy? Knowing that her mere existence is making Buffy miserable? Knowing that she is, essentially, a parasitic organism? Moreover, a parasitic organism that _wants_ to die? A parasitic organism that you won't mourn, because the moment she dies, you'll forget she ever existed?"  
  
"She's not a 'parasitic organism', she's _Dawn_."  
  
Giles sighed. "I may not enjoy Angel's terminology, but he does have a point. Xander, remember when you were split into two beings? Should we not have recombined you?"  
  
"See?" Angel smiled slightly. "That's exactly why Spike wouldn't have told you."  
  
"Anybody else _completely_ confused?" Faith groaned, dropping her head into her hands.  
  
"So Buffy won't ever be whole again until the person she loves more than anyone else in the world dies," Wood mused. "That's... special."  
  
--------------------------  
  
"The t-thing is, I t-think he was trying to slip me a message. 'Cause he called you my _boyfriend_, which is w-wrong on a l-lot of levels... but those vamps wouldn't know that..."  
  
"A blatantly false statement to clue you in," Wesley sighed, handing Tara a glass of water. "Tell me _exactly_ what he said after that, Dawn, as word-for-word as you can."  
  
"He said to tell you that he'd decided to tackle your 'killer first-day project' by himself."  
  
"My killer first-day project? You're certain that's what he said?"  
  
"P-pretty certain. And he kind of... _looked_ at me when he said it. I-I think it had something to do with the _vendetta_ thing... the vampires said that Drusilla was going to do to Angel what Angel had done to her..."  
  
"Angel did quite a lot of damage to Drusilla in their day. He made her insane, he killed her entire family..."  
  
At this, Illyria whipped around, staring at them both. "Killed her _family_?"  
  
"Yes. He was rather methodical about it, actually... of course, we're speaking of Angelus here, not Angel..."  
  
"Wesley," Illyria said pointedly. "_Your killer._ Your killer was Vail."  
  
Wesley froze, blinking. "And on the _first day_ we took over Wolfram & Hart..."  
  
"He had a project, did he not?"  
  
Wesley let out a little moan. "_Connor_. Drusilla is going to kill Connor."


	18. Midnight Descends

It was dark.  
  
Really dark.  
  
And considering what he'd been doing before the dark part, that was probably bad.  
  
His arms were stretched up uncomfortably over his head; his whole body weight hung from his wrists.  
  
Oh, yeah. Rescind the probably. This was bad.  
  
"My pretty little Spoike," a feminine voice hissed. Sharp fingernails scratched his cheek.  
  
Cancel the bad. Pencil in a disasterous.  
  
"Dru," Spike croaked, forcing his eyes to peel open. "Lovely to see you, Pet."  
  
"You've been terribly naughty," Drusilla giggled, running her fingers over his bruised and swollen face. "Look at all the pretty, pretty colors they've turned you. You're a fruit basket, all apples and plums."  
  
_Manacles around wrists: iron, strong, too tight to break his hand-bones and wrench out. Bugger.   
  
Angel's son: across the room, unconscious, bleeding, shackled. Double bugger.   
  
Bold Heroic Rescue Attempt: gone all to hell._   
  
Drusilla circled him, smiling... and it was bizarre, the mix of fear and aching tenderness that rose in his throat. His black goddess. His ripe, wicked plum. He breathed deeply, taking in her smell of blood and mildewed lace and sour wine and insanity.  
  
His Dru.  
  
Killing her was going to suck.  
  
"I've heard such sad stories about you, pretty Spoike. They made Miss Edith cry and cry."  
  
"Sorry about that, love. You know I wouldn't hurt Miss Edith's feelin's for anythin'."  
  
"Liar," Drusilla purred, her fingernails tracing the zipper of Spike's jeans. "You'd like to bash in her brains. Miss Edith says you've been terribly bad. Doing nasty, _dirty_..."  
  
Drusilla punctuated her words with a vicious squeeze, and Spike's eyes flew wide.  
  
"... things with the Slayer. Making messes of the pretty hellmouth. Shame on you, Spoike."  
  
"Yes, darling, I've been terribly naughty. Do you forgive me, my princess?"  
  
Drusilla reached languidly into a box, pulling out a small dagger and tapping it against the flat of her palm. "You've been playing hero with Daddy and you didn't even invite me."  
  
She sliced his t-shirt open from bottom to top, letting the tip of the blade paint a thin red line up his neck to his chin.  
  
"You went to Africa to get Willy back."  
  
She reopened the scar at his eyebrow, biting her lip in concentration, getting it perfect.  
  
"That..."  
  
One cheekbone slashed.  
  
"Was..."  
  
The other.  
  
"Very..."  
  
And the knife pressed against his throat.  
  
"Silly."  
  
Spike inhaled sharply as Drusilla increased the pressure, blood welling from the ever-deepening cut.  
  
"Poor Spoike. You always were so dreadfully jealous of Daddy. And he could be so wonderfully hurtful." She clucked her tongue. "I dreamed of you on the blue moons. Dreamt of you rotting. Little squirmies wiggling in and out of your eye sockets. You would have, you know. Too late now..."  
  
Drusilla trailed the knife over his chest, drawing little spirals and loops, leaning over to lick the blood from his throat.  
  
"You taste nicer than Daddy. Did his Slayer ever tell you that, my Spoike? Darla's very cross about it."  
  
"Darla's dead."  
  
Drusilla giggled. "That's never stopped anyone from playing with _me_, pretty Spoike. They come to me in my garden and sing little songs about dewdrops. Darla's very cross because you died for Daddy."  
  
"I didn't die for..."  
  
"Ssssh," she whispered, laying a finger across his lips. "You wore Daddy's trap. How it sparkled! Like baby fish. You changed all their plans, changed the game. Burned poor Willy right up, and him just arrived for tea. _ Not_ a very nice thing to do to Willy, was that, Spoike? But you taste better this way."  
  
She wiped a drop of his blood up with her finger, spread it across her lips.  
  
"Darla says it doesn't matter. But Darla never liked you. I think you knew that." She caressed his arm gently, regretfully. "But _I_ like you, Spoike. Will you come back to me, now that Willy's all burnt up?"  
  
"Of course I will, darling. Just unlock me, and we'll burn through this town like..."  
  
Her laugh was high and piercing, almost a scream. "We've played this game before. I didn't like it last time. You changed the rules. You've changed your rules. No more electricity, no more spark. I wonder where it's coming from?"  
  
"I've got the chip out now, my darling. It'll be like it was before."  
  
"You don't _know_," Drusilla whispered. "How delicious."  
  
"What don't I know, Pet?"  
  
"You don't know Willy got all... burnt... up. You think he's still in there. Oh, he was lovely, Spoike. From the moment I saw him. I set him free, sent him soaring away, sent him off to have his repose. And what a long repose it was. Oh, they wanted _Liam_ to burn, my Spoike. The Wolf, Ram, and Hart. They wanted Angelus out to play forever and forever, Liam all burnt up where the nasty gypsies couldn't _ever _get him back, no matter how they cried. Poor little Spoike. Always second choice."  
  
She dug the tip of her knife into the flesh above Spike's heart. "Should I show you, my darling? You tried to cut him out once. Should I show you that he's gone? Show you how pretty and black you are on the inside?"  
  
"You're lying," Spike gasped.  
  
"Am I?" She dug deeper with the knife. "Do I lie, Spoike? Didn't you feel him burn? Turn into light? He knew it would happen, my Spoike. He knew ever so long ago. _That's_ why I wanted to eat him."  
  
"Dru..."  
  
"My soul is wrapped in harsh repose," Drusilla whispered, trailing her hands gently across his arms as she walked to stand behind him.  
  
"Oh, bloody hell, Dru, _don't_..."  
  
"Midnight descends..." she tugged playfully at his duster, his sliced t-shirt, "In raven-coloured clothes..."  
  
Spike whipped his head around to stare at her, horror dawning.  
  
"But soft... behold... a sunlight beam..."  
  
And Dru wrapped her arms around him from behind, crossing her hands over his chest where the amulet had lain.  
  
"Cutting a swath of glimmering gleam..."  
  
She burst her hands apart, miming the way the amulet's light had spread out through the Hellmouth.  
  
"You were, at the end, you know," Drusilla licked his earlobe. "_Effulgent_."


	19. Dream A Little Dream Of Me

_"Care for an hors d'oeuvre, milady?"  
  
Buffy looks up in shock; the waiter is dressed in period clothing, as is everyone around her... it's like a scene from Titanic or something, except, y'know, no Leonardo, which is really a shame.  
  
She tries to speak, and realizes her lungs aren't working properly; a moment later, she connects that with the deep pressure around her ribs.  
  
A corset. She's wearing a corset.  
  
Okay,_ this_ thing's gotta go. No way can she kick ass in this. Not to mention the, like, seventy-five pounds of clothing she's wearing.  
  
Sheesh. No wonder women back then fainted so much.  
  
"Oh, quickly!" says a voice behind her. "I'm the very spirit of vexation."  
  
Xander?  
  
He's sitting on a little couch, his hair long and in a ponytail, little spectacles perched on the end of his nose, dressed up like Benjamin Franklin. She'd laugh, but somehow, this isn't funny at all... it's more like the part of the movie where the stupid co-ed walks down the hallway alone and the screechy violins start.  
  
"What's another word for 'gleaming'? It's a perfectly perfect word as many words go but the bother is nothing rhymes, you see."  
  
Whoa. Check out Xander channeling Hugh Grant...  
  
As she watches, Xander phases in and out, his hair lightening and darkening again, his face replaced by Spike's, only... Spike's hair isn't blonde at all, it's a sort of reddish-brown, it's...  
  
The color that was growing in down in the basement. His real hair color.  
  
Weird...  
  
Ugh. Stupid Slayer dreams. Who else is here?  
  
Buffy rises, wincing again at the pressure of the corset, doing a slow patrol around the room. She sees familiar faces, but not loved ones; Harmony Kendall, human again, laughing snottily beneath a massive pile of hair. Principal Snyder, Mitch Fargo, Mashad Bolling, Amber Grove, Larry Blaisedale... ugh, ugh, ugh.  
  
So this isn't a Slayer dream at all, then. It's _that_ dream, the one where she's humiliated in front of everyone she hated in high school... only, shouldn't she be naked by now?  
  
And if it's everyone she hated in high school... where's Cordelia?  
  
Oh. _There_ she is.  
  
Coming down a flight of stairs, her hair elaborately done, floating in her little cloud of snootiness... and oh, of course everyone's turning to look at her, she's Queen Cordelia, isn't she?  
  
And over trots Xander, drawn to her like a moth to flame. Typical.  
  
Xander's here, Cordy's here... so where's Willow?  
  
Is she...  
  
The pressure on her ribs, the weight of her clothing gives way, and Buffy is suddenly aware that she's moved in space; she's looking up at Snyder, looming over her, holding a sheet of paper in his hand.  
  
"Don't be shy, Summers," Snyder laughs, that horrible, tittering little laugh of his, his beady eyes dancing with barely suppressed glee.  
  
There's a paper in Snyder's hand, one that is clearly giving him a huge happy. Her latest report card? Paperwork for her expulsion?  
  
Snyder holds up the paper to read aloud, condescension dripping from every syllable, hamming it up for the crowd. "My heart expands/'tis grown a bulge in it/inspired by your beauty, effulgent."  
  
The words are unknown, the plummeting, nauseous motion of her stomach all too familar.  
  
And they're all laughing, laughing at her... she's surrounded by their contorted faces, their too-wide eyes, their mouths full of too many teeth. Harmony's snorting, one pink-tipped hand over her mouth, and Buffy feels the familiar pain, everyone thinking she was a freak, no one understanding who she really was, what she'd gone through... assuming things, judging her...  
  
Oh, yes, she's had _this_ dream before. Minus the frillies, more with the naked.  
  
"Effulgent," Snyder repeats, like it's the punchline to a hilarious joke, and everyone laughs that much harder.  
  
Kick their asses. She's going to kick absolutely every inch of their asses. Buffy's hands curl into fists, preparing to throw the first punch...  
  
And she realizes something's wrong; her Slayer strength is gone.  
  
There's no way she can fight them, no way she can win. There's nothing she can do. She's utterly helpless.  
  
Frustration wells up within her, the urge to strike out blindly...  
  
She settles for reaching up and ripping the sheet of paper out of Snyder's hands.  
  
"And that's actually one of his better compositions," Larry laughs.  
  
"Have you heard?" Harmony titters. "They call him 'William the Bloody' because of his bloody awful poetry!"  
  
Snyder smiles broadly. "It suits him. I'd rather have a railroad spike through my head than listen to that awful stuff!"  
  
Wait a minute. William the Bloody? Railroad spike?  
  
Where the hell is she?  
  
And suddenly, she's a spectator again, a little wave of nausea pulling at her stomach as she shifts, the pressure and weight back on her, watching Xander as he follows Cordelia over to a small sofa.  
  
"Cordelia?" Xander says hesitantly, and Buffy wants to run over to him, push him away from her, tell him not to bother, she's not worth it, Xander's so much better than he suspects, so good, so brave...  
  
Cordelia lets out one of her patented long-suffering sighs. "Oh. Leave me alone."  
  
Things are phasing in and out again; for an instant, Buffy is on the couch, and Cordelia has been replaced with... Parker? Xander flashes with Spike, Cordelia flashes with someone vaguely familiar...  
  
"Your... poetry," Cordelia says, in the same tones she'd discuss stretchy stirrup pants, "It's... they're... not written about _me_, are they?"  
  
And, oh God, the pain on Xander's face, the dumb-puppy supplication, and how Buffy wants to grab him by the lapels, haul him out of here, tell him he doesn't deserve this...  
  
"They're about how I feel," Xander says earnestly.  
  
It's too pathetic, it's horrible, she can't watch, it hurts, poor Xander...  
  
"Yes," the familiar brunette says, and Buffy knows she's seen her before, can't place her... "But are they about me?"  
  
"Every syllable," Spike replies.__  
  
"Oh, God!"  
  
Buffy turns, and it's not Cordelia, it's not the brunette, it's not Parker... the cruel woman in white is _her_ now, her lip curled in disgust.  
  
"Oh, I know... it's sudden and..." Spike looks near tears, and Buffy's heart wrenches. "Please, if they're no good, they're only words but... the feeling behind them... I love you, Buffy."  
  
The other her scoffs. "You don't have a soul. There's nothing good or clean in you. You're dead inside. You can't feel anything real, Spike. I could never be your girl."  
  
Spike's face contorts in pain, but he hasn't given up yet. "I know I'm a bad poet. But... I'm a good man... a-and all I ask is that... that you try to see me..."  
  
"I _do_ see you," the other Buffy says in disgust. "That's the problem. You're nothing to me, William. You're beneath me."  
  
And she sees the words cut him, sees his horrified face, as he flashes from Spike to Xander to Willow and back to Spike, each face in excruciating pain, and finally her, the blue of Spike's eyes fading to the green of her own, the tears remaining.  
  
"You had fun? Was that all it was?" the other her whispers, chin trembling.  
  
"What else was it supposed to be?" Parker says casually.  
  
"What?"  
  
And it is Angelus who looks back at her. "You got a lot to learn about men, kiddo. Although I guess you proved that last night."  
  
And he walks off, fading back into the brunette.  
  
Spike sits, his horrible poem in his hands, watching her go...  
  
And it's dark. Utterly, completely dark. She reaches out and touches wood, a few inches from her face. The air is stale, heavy and thick with decay.  
  
She bites back a scream. She knows this nightmare. She's lived it.  
  
She's back in her coffin.  
  
But something's changed; the padding, the lining, she once had to rip through are gone. She touches only wood, even closer to her face than usual, even more claustrophobic than the one in her normal nightmares, and oh God, she's so _hungry_...  
  
And... her Slayer strength is back.  
  
Buffy punches through the coffin lid, kicking out with her feet, the wood splintering, dirt falling on her face, collapsing in all around her, surrounding her, weighing her down, and oh God she has to get out she has to get out...  
  
She knows this, has done it, has done it a million times more in the nightmares that still haunt her. She claws through the dirt, one hand sticking out into the night air...  
  
Which someone grabs. Someone cold.  
  
This doesn't happen.  
  
She is being yanked through the earth as if she weighed nothing, like being born...  
  
She opens her dirt-crusted eyes, and sees Drusilla... who claps her hands in delight.  
  
Buffy looks down at her torn, bleeding hands, shutting her eyes against the familiar sight.  
  
When she opens them again, she sees Angel.  
  
"Get up, boy," he says, his Irish accent thick, his hair long and wild around his face. "We're havin' an little excursion."  
  
She is frozen in place. Oh, God. Those eyes. Angelus...  
  
He backhands her across the face. "I said, get up. I can't fix what Dru's buggered, but I can teach y'the way of it. We'll make somethin' of you yet, Willy."  
  
"But Angelus, you said he could be mine," Drusilla whines from somewhere beyond her vision.  
  
She hears a slap, the crunch of bone. Drusilla laughs, high and deranged.  
  
"He's not ready for you yet, Dru. Wants a bit of tenderizing, he does. Don't want to be unwrappin' your gifts before Christmas, now do ye?"  
  
"Oh, I like Christmas," she giggles...  
  
Black.  
  
There is a resounding crack, and a white-hot line of pain flares across her back. She is manacled to a support beam. Everything hurts. The smell of blood is everywhere, and it's driving her insane. She's so weak. So hungry.  
  
"Why'm I doin' this, Willy?"  
  
"I don't know," Buffy stutters.  
  
"You knew a lick ago. Forgettin' so soon? Why'm I doin' this, Willy?"  
  
The lash hits her back again. She arches and screams.  
  
"Why'm I doin' this, Willy?"  
  
"I don't know!"  
  
"What did you try to do, Willy?"  
  
"I don't know!"  
  
"Well, take a look, then! And see how useless your disobedience was."  
  
Angel grabs her by the throat, twisting sharply, and... oh, god, she feels her neck break, feels the vertebrae shatter. No longer able to hold her head up, Angel points it in the direction he wants it.  
  
The blood-drenched corpses of Xander, Willow, Giles, and Dawn are heaped on the floor, limbs splayed at unnatural angles. Drusilla crawls over them, propping them up, arranging them.  
  
"Pretty dollies," Drusilla muses, grabbing Dawn's body by the throat and examining it. Dawn's sightless eyes are open, empty, yet seem to stare directly at Buffy. "This one looks like you, Willy."  
  
"They all look like him, Dru," Angelus laughs. "Wouldn't they?"  
  
Drusilla grabs Dawn's lower jaw in her other hand, moving it up and down like a ventriloquist's dummy in time to her words. "Hullo, Willy. Would you like to have tea with me?"  
  
"Don't break her mouth, Dru," Angelus says, and the look he gives Buffy burns with dark insinuations. "I think I'll be usin' that first. And I'm sure Willy here wants to watch, so... why don't you play with him awhile?"  
  
Buffy's broken neck sags abruptly as Angelus lets go of it. It is only in her peripheral vision that she sees Angelus begin to unbutton his trousers.  
  
Dark again.  
  
She is lying on her stomach, naked, so weak she can barely move, can barely blink. When she tries to adjust her position, she hears a noise like ripping.  
  
She is glued to the mattress with her own dried blood.  
  
She hears a creak, the mattress sagging beneath a great weight, a man moving over her.  
  
Angelus.  
  
And Buffy screams for a second before his hand claps roughly over her mouth, his other hand on her hip, pressing her deeper into the mattress.  
  
"Don't worry, Willy," he whispers. "It'll hurt much less once you start to bleed."  
  
Black.  
  
She is curled in a corner, still naked, whimpering, hog-tied. Darla uses a hand mirror to play with the sun's rays through the window, reflecting them onto Buffy's body, twisting and turning the mirror so she never catches fire... just burns all over.  
  
Darla looks bored.  
  
"I don't see why you bother, darling," Darla sighs. "Just _stake_ him. We'll make Dru a new playmate, and we'll do it properly this time."  
  
"She's attached to this one," Angelus groans in disgust. "We'll never hear the end of her whinin'."  
  
"So stake _her_."  
  
"Aww, Darla," Angelus laughs. "Might ye be a wee bit jealous?"  
  
"Jealous? Of a madwoman who can't even sire a fledgling properly? What _is_ he? Besides repulsive?"  
  
"Don't know, my death." Angelus wraps his arms around Darla's waist from behind, nuzzles his head into her shoulder. "But he'll be one of us, when I'm done w'him."  
  
Flash.  
  
And it is bright; she is staring into a parlor window, lit from within. There are people inside, warm and soft and full of blood, their heartbeats thunder in her ears... and the hunger cramps her gut, nearly twists her in two.  
  
A hand on her shoulder. Angelus.  
  
She turns; the other three are right behind her. Drusilla looks worried, eager, concerned; Darla, irritated; Angelus, unreadably intense.  
  
"Why are we here, Willy?" Angelus asks.  
  
"Vengeance," Buffy hears herself say.  
  
"And what is vengeance then, Willy?"  
  
"It is an art form."  
  
Oh God, the hunger, it's ripping her apart...  
  
"An' you know what they say about great art, Willy," Angelus smiles. "Need the proper tools. Do ye have the proper tools for this job, Willy?"  
  
"I have the proper tools for this job," Buffy replies woodenly, holding up the stake in her hand.  
  
No, no... not a stake...  
  
A railroad spike.  
  
Flash.  
  
And the killing is glorious.  
  
No longer weak, no longer frail, with the nagging, bloody cough she'd picked up from Mother and her never-calloused fingers, some days too tired from the sickness even to hold a pen. She is filled with power, flushed with it, drunk on it, and it is them, the laughing ones, the tormenting ones, who are weak now. They fly across the room at the touch of her fist; they rip like paper.  
  
One by one, they pay for the way they have made her feel, pay for every second of pain they have caused her, pay for their laughter, pay for their looks, pay for their insinuations, pay for the little jokes made just loud enough that she could hear them.  
  
They scream, and it is music. They sob, and it is ambrosia. The pain in their eyes is the only mirror she will ever be able to see herself in.  
  
She drinks their blood, plays in it, writes with it -- perhaps they'll like these writings better? Perhaps these will be more to their taste?  
  
The drawing room becomes an abattoir, a slaughterhouse, a masterpiece. She repeats their hurtful words back to them, rejoicing in their fear.  
  
Fear is respect.  
  
Respect is love.  
  
She has learned this well.  
  
She hears footsteps and whirls; they stand in the doorway. Drusilla is delighted, clapping her black-gloved hands together.  
  
"Oh, Willy, my Willy! What a lovely mess you've made!"  
  
And Angelus smiles, surveying the room slowly. He touches Darla's cheek. "See, darlin'? I think our little problem's all taken care of. And to think you didn't trust me."  
  
Buffy stands, drenched in blood, metal spike still gripped in her hand, gaping at them.  
  
"Why don't you put that down, Pet? Doesn't suit."  
  
She whirls... and it is Spike that addresses her, the real Spike, the now Spike, Spike of peroxide and duster and whiskey and Marlboros. He leans against the doorway, surveying the scene dispassionately, taking a drag off his cigarette.  
  
"Spike..." she breathes.  
  
"Must say, love, I'm impressed." He kicks aside a corpse with the toe of his boot. "Don't think even I was quite this vicious. Issues, Slayer. You've got definite issues."  
  
"I only have half a soul, Spike."  
  
"Found that out, did you? Bit o' demon and half a soul. Quite the fence-straddler."  
  
"I'm so confused. I don't understand any of this."  
  
"Well, that's what you lot get for pokin' around in my brain, innit?" Spike grins up at her, his old familiar grin, the one that says he's teasing. "Bloody disrespectful of a bloke's privacy, if y'ask me."  
  
"You lied to me."  
  
"Well, yeah... I'm evil, remember?"  
  
"When you told me about getting turned..."  
  
"Oh, right, that. You thought I wanted you to know what a great poncy poof I'd been? Bloody hell, woman, you teased me enough as it was without knowin' about William the Bloody Wanker."  
  
The room begins to shake, and Spike turns his face up to the ceiling. "Speakin' of great poncy poofs..."  
  
-------------------------------------  
  
_"Buffy," Angel commanded, shaking her shoulders harder. "You're having a nightmare. Wake up."  
  
"M-maybe it's a Slayer dream," Willow suggested. "It's kinda hard to wake her up from those."  
  
"Buffy," Angel repeated, "Buffy, c'mon..."  
  
Buffy's eyes flew open at the same moment her arms flew up between his, pushing outward to knock his hands from her shoulders, her leg rising to sweep him from the bed. Angel landed on the floor with a painful thump as Buffy nimbly rolled off the other side of the bed, rising in fighting stance, fists up, chest heaving.  
  
"Well. Good morning to you, too," Angel groaned, hauling himself to his feet. "I'm starting to understand why you went through alarm clocks so fast."  
  
"Get away from me, Angelus!"  
  
"Oh. _That_ kind of nightmare. Buffy, honey, it's me. Angel. Not Angelus. Human? Heartbeat? Really sore ass, as of about ten seconds ago?"  
  
"Y-you k-killed Dawn..."  
  
Willow took a tentative step towards the freaked-out Slayer. "Dawnie's fine, Buffy. Remember? She's with Spike."  
  
"Spike," Buffy whispered. "Oh, God. I thought if I went to sleep, it would stop..."  
  
Angel turned to Willow. "What is she talking about?"  
  
"I, uh... I kinda went black-eyed yesterday and passed her more memories than she asked me for..."  
  
Angel paled. "_Spike's_ memories?"  
  
"Yeah." Willow bit her lip. "Buffy... do you know where you are? You just had a nightmare, okay? Gave you a little wiggins, but it's okay..."  
  
"Guys... I... I need to be alone." Buffy's voice was small and pleading. "I need to... I need to make sense of all this stuff in my head. I need... I need to think."  
  
"Are you sure you don't..."  
  
"Um, hey, Angel?" Gunn said awkwardly. "Uh, sorry to interrupt."  
  
"What is it, Gunn?"  
  
"You have a phone call." Gunn held Angel's cellphone towards him.  
  
"Tell them I'll call them back," Angel sighed.  
  
"Wow," Willow said in awe. "You actually get a signal down here?"  
  
"No, he doesn't get a signal down here," Gunn replied. "Angel? It's Cordy."


	20. Monsters

_It's black and white. Of course it's black and white -- that's what people dream in, isn't it? Spike just can't remember it ever being this black and white, everything falling in such harsh contrast, pooling shadows and blinding highlights...  
  
Not that he really has time to critique the cinematography, what with the mob of villagers chasing him with torches and all.  
  
They're all there, the flickering flames turning them into visions of nightmare, and that's right, too... this is a nightmare, isn't it? Prague wasn't like this, Prague was living color, too many colors, sulfur-yellow and bruise purple and god, so much blood red...  
  
"Right about you all along," Xander smirks, and Giles gives him an of-course-you-were-son pat on the shoulder.  
  
And Fred, sweet little calico-and-steel Fred, Fred who he's so desperately missed, Fred who he even now wants to turn around and give a big soddin' hug to... Fred is staring at him with disgust.  
  
"Never would have helped you if I'd known," Fred says in horror. "If I'd known you were just a monster."  
  
And Angel is chuckling, that maddeningly superior poofy nancy boy chuckle, shaking his head. "Nice try, Willy. You'll never be one of us."  
  
"I can't believe I let that soulless, evil thing touch me," Anya frowns.  
  
He knows Buffy's not gonna let _that _one go by without hopping on the insult train, but when he turns to her... and why he can do this and still run like... well, like a really flammable guy being chased by a mob with torches... is tangled up in dream-logic...  
  
But Buffy just stands there, scythe drooping in her hand, looking at him.  
  
And this is the worst. The pain, the betrayal in her eyes, the revulsion; she shakes with it.  
  
He wants her to scream at him, beat him up, call him names... anything but just stand there looking miserable, those wide green eyes full of unshed tears.  
__  
She's wearing a bathrobe.  
  
Of _course_ she's wearing a bathrobe.  
  
And when the crowd falls on him he welcomes it._  
  
-----------------------------------------  
  
Spike's eyes snapped open, nightmare fading into...  
  
Well, this really wasn't that much of an improvement.  
  
Through the haze of blood that filled his vision, Spike could see her, dancing towards him, spinning gleefully, holding something wreathlike in her hands... something she raised up and placed on his head, patting it down like a mother with her child's toboggan.  
  
A hundred stings took him at once, like the worst headache in the history of the world, relentless and sharp and everywhere and...  
  
Oh, bloody hell.  
  
Drusilla clapped her hands, stepping back from him in delight. "Oh, Spoike -- you're a gorgeous blasphemy. It matches your eyes."  
  
Bloody _nuns_, why did Angelus have to be so obsessed with bloody _nuns_...  
  
"Pretty as a picture," Drusilla smiled serenely, turning expectantly to the minion beside her.  
  
Flashbulbs in his face. Well, wasn't _that_ lovely. Suppose these would be arriving for Angel in the morning post, then.  
  
"Not sure Peaches is into the religious re-enactments, Pet," Spike croaked. "Though I'm sure he'll appreciate your eye for detail."  
  
Dru accepted the Polaroid the minion handed her, watching greedily as the film swam into focus.  
  
"Might want to be careful with that, Dru. Seein' me all Jesused up might give Angelus one of those inconvenient happys, an' then he might not make it to your party."  
  
"Daddy doesn't do that anymore," Drusilla peered at the photo. "Daddy will only come back once more, and I won't get to see him. But you will, Spoike. Soul-sick. He's all Angel-beast at present, thump-thump, thump-thump."  
  
"Ah. _Thrilled_ to hear you're in the loop."  
  
"The Angel-Beast will come once he learns of the special present I've given the little one. A lovely, glistening present, like I gave you on your birthday. He'll come with tears in his eyes and Africa on his mind..."  
  
Spike's spine turned to ice; he struggled to keep his voice casual. "Plannin' to turn the boy, then?"  
  
"Oh, no, Spoike," Drusilla giggled. "Grandmother's told me again and again, I'm no good at it. Don't you remember? First you and then Grandmother... all full of cracks where the light can get in... and light's no good for us, it sizzles and burns..."  
  
She waltzed over, adjusting the crown of thorns at Spike's brow.  
  
"So you see... I'm not going to give him his present."  
  
And Spike screamed as the minion thrust a spear deep into his side, blood gushing from the wound.  
  
Drusilla patted his cheek fondly. "_You_ are."  
  
-----------------------------------------  
  
The bathroom door closed behind Wesley, and Tara turned to an anxious examination of her -- well, _Dawn's_ -- fingernails.  
  
"I am glad that we are alone," Illyria said. "I wished to speak with you. You have not yet informed us of your transformation. Have you informed the half-breed?"  
  
"H-half-breed?"  
  
"The white-haired one. Spike." Illyria smiled. "He is my pet."  
  
Tara stifled a slightly hysterical giggle. "Well... _t-that's_ a turnaround."  
  
"You speak of his characteristic overuse of diminutive epithets."  
  
"Well... I _think_ I do..."  
  
"In your former existence, you were a witch of great control and understanding."  
  
"I, uh... thank you?"  
  
"Great control. Great understanding. And very little real power."  
  
"Well, I..."  
  
"Now you have all three. You inhabit a vessel drenched in power. You are as a superbly trained marksman, suddenly given a much larger weapon."  
  
Tara paled. "N-no, I couldn't use Dawn's energy, you don't know... you don't know what happened to Willow..."  
  
"But I _do_ know. The _shell_ knows. The shell was acquainted, and had many additional discussions with the half-breed. It was a topic in which the shell was most interested. I find that I am also interested."  
  
Illyria suddenly lounged against the bureau, crossing her arms, her movements more coltlike than catlike, and Tara blinked... but the bizarre moment was over as soon as it had begun.  
  
"I know that your lover wished to take the energy from the shell you now possess. But she would use it for other ends. You have a strength and will, a focus, a _clarity_, she lacks."  
  
"I c-couldn't..."  
  
"I _know_ power, witch. I have had it in measure you cannot begin to fathom. I have surrendered it, and tasted the bitterness of that sacrifice. We are at war. To ignore the presence of a mighty weapon is to ensure defeat."  
  
Tara wrung her hands in her lap, letting Dawn's hair fall in a curtain around her face.  
  
"You should think on these things I have said."  
  
-----------------------------------------  
  
"All your pretty insides all over your pretty outsides," Drusilla said pleasantly, worming her finger into the hole in Spike's side, tugging at it. "You must be getting terribly hungry, darling, and I've brought you something so much nicer than a puppy."  
  
Blood coursed down Spike's side, Drusilla watching it, measuring it, measuring him. Her eyes flicked over to Connor, still shackled in an unconscious heap.  
  
"Nah. Got to watch my girlish figure n' all."  
  
Drusilla laughed, her fingers painting his cheeks with blood. "Your pain flies from your mouth, lashing out, your tongue like a blade; I've missed it. How you made me laugh and laugh."  
  
"S'like that Manilow-lovin' poof tellin' me he fancied my poetry, Dru, _dirt_ could make you laugh. Did, on several occasions that spring to mind."  
  
"That's because it's so funny. Funny and wet and full of little squirmy eyes." She dragged her finger up his cheek, making a loopy red swirl. "Did you miss me, Spoike?"  
  
"Sure I did, pet. Love to give you a big ol' hug, too, only seems I've gotten myself nailed to a cross somehow. Don't suppose you know how that happened?"  
  
She lifted her bloody hand, sucking a little of his blood from her middle finger. "You used to break easier."  
  
"Ought to have kept in touch, love. Right sad how people grow apart, innit? Gettin' chained up n' tortured by the big bad whatever's gettin' to be a little hobby of mine. Hell on the skin, though. Lucky I moisturize."  
  
"Why do you fight it, Spoike? Your spark is all gone. She'll never love you now. Not like I do..."  
  
"Didn't love me then, my sweet. Either one of you. Not as I wanted, anyway. You know better than anyone how this tune goes. Only person in this world's ever liked me better than ol' Angelus is the Nibblet, which really ought to have tipped me off to the whole slaverin' insanity thing she had goin' on the sly. What can I say, Dru? Broodin's all the rage these days. I blame Cobain, really I do."  
  
Drusilla shook her head, tugging at his blood-matted curls. "You're _mine_. The wisest and bravest knight in all the land. Mine forever with a kiss. Daddy _promised_."  
  
"Sorry, Pet. But if it's any comfort, this whole thing's your fault. Never would have gotten addicted to the do-goodin' if you hadn't gone all Jenna Jameson on that Chaos Demon."  
  
"That's not your world. You belong in the shadows, with me..."  
  
Spike smiled. "Y'know, I remember the first time you said that to me, Princess."  
  
Drusilla perked up, hope dawning across her face.  
  
"Thought it had a certain poetry. Recycled it once. Proverbial lead balloon. Y'know, I don't mean to hurt your feelin's, love, but you really didn't teach me a lot about healthy relationship management. Dr. Phil'd have a field day."  
  
"How you _hurt_, my darling. I feel it... in your head, in your heart, a million stings with each little breath. You burn and reach out, but you're falling, you're falling... and no one wants to catch you... they kick you aside, they play you in minor notes, use you and spit you out. Do you still think she believes in you, Spoike?"  
  
Spike closed his eyes, wincing.  
  
"No chip. No soul. You're free, my love. Free to hunt, free to take, free to feed... with me. Your glory lies at your feet, waiting for you to be who you really are."  
  
"Got me all figured out then, have you?"  
  
"I _know_ you," Drusilla purred. "You're a _monster_, my lovely."  
  
"So's Grover."  
  
Drusilla recoiled, confused. "But darling... the spark..."  
  
"Look, ducks, I'm not your _Daddy_, all right? Believe me, _nobody_ lets me forget that. And besides a lifetime supply of second-place ribbons, it also means I don't have his bloody on/off evil switch. I've seen better evil recruitment drives on the Home Shopping Network, love, and I never knew crucifixion could be so bloody dull. So get on with your master plan or bloody well bugger off."  
  
"You've changed," Drusilla keened, curling her arms over her head. "You went back to the beginning. But Willy's gone, how can it be? Willy's all burnt and you're still back at the beginning..."  
  
"Pet, do you _really_ want to know what changed me? More than the chip, more than even the soul, which apparently I only had on a bloody short-term rental?"  
  
"Yes, Spoike." She looked almost pathetically eager. "Tell me, please."  
  
"A hundred and forty-seven days," Spike smiled, taking a deep breath and _ripping_...  
  
It was a damn good thing Dru was more concerned with artistry than historical accuracy; Spike gasped as the meat of his palms tore away, and oh god, the _wrongness_ of feeling the nails slide within his flesh, the little bursting at the head of the nail... but oh, it was worth it when his elbow connected with her cheekbone, sending her staggering back long enough for him to repeat the process with his feet, feeling the small bones crunch and crack, dropping to his knees.  
  
He hooked her knees with his arm and sent her crashing to the floor, crying out, scrambling to right herself. He pinned her long dress with a knee, Drusilla kicking out at him for purchase.  
  
Spike swiveled back to the cross, crashing his elbow through the footrest at the bottom, feeling his elbow break as the wood flew free, and oh God the pain as he forces his other hand to grasp it, ruined bones and torn tendons refusing to cooperate, dizzy with blood loss and sorrow for what he knows he is about to do.  
  
"Goodbye, Dru," he whispers, and falls on her.  
  
A moment later, he is lying in a pile of dust, tears streaming down his cheeks.  
  
-----------------------------------------  
  
"They're bringing us back, one by one," Willow said softly, watching Angel charge down the hallway, cellphone pressed to his ear and Gunn dogging his heels.  
  
"Huh?" Buffy raised an eyebrow. "What's the big deal about a phone call from Cordelia? I haven't seen Angel this excited since... well, I've _never_ seen Angel this excited."  
  
She crossed her arms. "And over _Cordelia_. I feel a pout coming on."  
  
"Wow, you really _don't_ listen in the meetings."  
  
"I listen! It's just, well, there's _so_ much talking and Andrew always has to relate everything to the Kobayashi Maru and -- _hey_! You messed with my brain! I'm allowed to phase out a little."  
  
"Cordy's _dead_, Buffy."  
  
"She -- huh?"  
  
"Dead. Makes it a little more exciting when she reaches out and touches someone, y'know?"  
  
Buffy sat down hard on the edge of the bed. "Cordelia's _dead_?"  
  
"Well, uh -- theoretically? I mean, the whole phone call thing would kind of indicate otherwise."  
  
"Do you think she's the First?"  
  
Willow sat down next to her. "God, Buffy, I don't know. Between Spike and Wesley and the prophecy... I'm getting tummy-rumblins. I mean, apocalypse, hi, that's Tuesday night, right? But this... y'know, what Spike said, about the 'final curtain call'... it sounds kinda, um, _final_. And when the Powers or whatever are on this... _resurrection spree_... I dunno, it's all very Aragorn going to get the dead for the big battle, y'know?"  
  
"You do realize that made _no_ kind of sense, right?"  
  
Willow touched Buffy's knee. "So, um... how are you doing? With the whole, uh, Dawn revelation, and the unscheduled Spike injection which I am still very, very sorry about?"  
  
Buffy sighed, putting her elbows on her knees. "I don't... I don't know, Will, I... I had this major freaky nightmare, almost like a Slayer dream, only it was... I think it was Spike's memories, but they were... all mixy with mine, and sometimes I _was_ Spike, and sometimes Spike was Xander, and then Spike was actually there... oh, I don't know. Angel was there, too... or Angelus, I guess, and Darla and Drusilla..."  
  
"I had freaky nightmares the night it happened, too. I think it was brain overload, y'know? Neurons weighted down with a century of memories all of a sudden, and your brain's trying to sort through it."  
  
"It was... really confusing. And... _really_ yucky."  
  
"I guess it would be. I mean, it's not sticking. The download or whatever, I mean. I've lost pretty much everything except the memories with a lot of emotional _whoomph_. So those are probably the ones you got. And hi, vampire, big on the whoomph."  
  
"Yeah, they were definitely... whoomph-y." Buffy broke off. "Why are you looking at me like that?"  
  
"Looking at you like what?"  
  
"Like someone just told a joke and I haven't gotten it yet."  
  
Willow's lips twitched. "Figured out what William the Bloody's real last name was yet?"  
  
"It's not hitting me over the head with a big stick or anything." Buffy bit her lip, deep in thought. "Every time I try to remember it, it's getting all mixy with that time you did that spell."  
  
"No, it's not."  
  
Buffy paled. "No. No way. No _way_!"  
  
"William Alden Giles," Willow smiled. "Came by that Slayer obsession honestly."  
  
-----------------------------------------  
  
"C'mon, kid," Spike begged, shaking Connor's shoulders, wincing at the pain. "Really bad time for a nap, okay? The cavalry's comin' and they aren't wearin' white hats..."  
  
Bloody hell. Bloody _hell_. Spike could feel them all around him, approaching quickly. Dozens, maybe a hundred vampires, converging on them. Not the best odds even with functional limbs and without a comatose Prophecy Kid.  
  
Footsteps behind him.  
  
So this is how he was going to die.  
  
"Hail, William the Bloody, Master of Aurelius."  
  
More footsteps, the room filling up, other voices joining the chant.  
  
"Hail, William the Bloody, Master of Aurelius."  
  
Well didn't _this_ bugger all.  
  
"Master... we await your command."


	21. Prophecies With Extra Cheese

A/N: I meant to mention this earlier, but I re-wrote Chapter One a while ago. If you guys who are archiving this story in other places wouldn't mind replacing that chapter with the new one, I'd really appreciate it.

* * *

"Cordy," Angel gasped into the cellphone, "Cordy, is it really..."  
  
"Bet your bippy. What does a girl have to do to get into this nasty cave-thing, huh? I can't even find the entrance. You think they'd be _useful_ and send me a vision of _that_, but oh no... could have teleported me inside... y'know, I swear, it's like they're the Powers That Be Massive Pains In The Butt."  
  
"You're... you're _here_?"  
  
"Remember that off-ramp? Now's the point where I merge with traffic. Assuming, of course, you get your big ol' human butt up here and let me in."  
  
"Cordy..."  
  
"Aww, Angel... you're _running_? I can hear your little feet pattering. That's so sweet! It's like that butter commercial."  
  
Angel burst into the sunlight, slinging the cellphone away. Cordelia turned, beaming, running towards him, their bodies colliding in the middle, hands rising to wrap around each other as Angel's lips crushed down on hers, their hearts beating wildly, rising for air, gasping.  
  
"Kinda forgot that I needed to breathe," Angel chuckled.  
  
Cordelia ran her fingers down his jaw. "Yeah, well, occupational hazard of humanity..."  
  
"How come you always come back from the dead with such great hair?"  
  
She shrugged, sending her perfect curls bouncing. "Because I'm cooler than Buffy?"  
  
"And humble, too..."  
  
"Oh, always. Remind me again why you're talking instead of kissing me?"  
  
"I have _no_ idea," Angel murmured, bringing his lips down again.

* * *

_Fuck._  
  
He'd lost his soul.  
  
He'd just dusted _Dru_.  
  
And a hundred vampires were staring at him expectantly.  
  
And his thought processes boiled down to: _fuck!_  
  
They wanted _leadership_ from him? _Now_? Broken and bleeding, barely conscious, with the dust of the woman he'd loved for a century on his hands, with rage and agony and loss roaring in his brain?  
  
"Fix the kid," Spike croaked, gesturing with his ravaged hand at a segment of the crowd gathered around him. "Anythin' he needs. Whatever's wrong with him. Fix it. Hair on his bloody head gets bent the wrong way, every _one_ of you wankers is dust, am I understood?"  
  
Vampires swarmed around Connor, lifting him gently, carrying him out of the room.  
  
"Somebody get me a phone. Gotta call his dad. Car, too... where the bloody hell are we? Need to get him back to his dad..."  
  
"We'll take care of that," a blonde in the crowd said, moving forward.  
  
"Fantastic." Spike swayed on his knees, darkness overcoming his vision.  
  
"You know, you completely went against the plan," the blonde added.  
  
"Sorry, Pet. Never have been one for plans. If you'll excuse, gonna pass out now..."  
  
"_You_ stake Drusilla, _I_ eviscerate Xander. But did you wait for me? No. _So_ rude. And if you think I'm gonna let you off just because you got all crucified, you're talkin' to the wrong vengeance demon, mister."  
  
Spike blinked, his head rising painfully.  
  
Anya stood at the front of the vampiric crowd, arms crossed, smiling at him. Another man stepped forward, taking his place at her side.  
  
"Dude," Oz nodded solemnly, "Nice loincloth."

* * *

"Ah, yes," Giles said, removing his glasses. "I was, actually, aware of that. We're not closely related; I believe he'd be some sort of very distant cousin."  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"Largely because I didn't _know_, Buffy. Keep in mind, I learned of Spike's resurrection mere hours before you did; I remain utterly amazed at Andrew's ability to hold his confidence that long. I didn't learn of Spike's origins until after his closure of the Hellmouth, and I didn't..." Giles sighed, polishing his glasses. "I didn't think you'd appreciate a phone call to rub salt in your wounds."  
  
"How'd you find out?"  
  
"I don't suppose you remember Marianne Kear? She's one of the few Watchers that survived. She wrote her dissertation on Spike. When I went to London to rebuild the Council, she asked me to help her update it. We ended up doing quite a bit of research on the topic."  
  
Buffy couldn't help smiling. "Major hottie, huh?"  
  
"Oh, yes," Giles chuckled. "Quite."  
  
"So what, you guys would snuggle up with Books of Spike?"  
  
Giles suppressed a wicked smirk. "I must say, it's the first time knowing Spike has helped my romantic life rather than hindered it."  
  
"And she told you he was a relative?"  
  
"I was previously aware that a William Giles had existed. I had no idea he had become Spike, of course."  
  
"So Spike wasn't being trained to be a Watcher?"  
  
"His father was tossed out of the Council when William was very young and abandoned the family soon after. William is actually mentioned in the Watcher's diaries; they had considered attempting to recruit him."  
  
"But they didn't."  
  
"William had been raised by his mother to be rather the opposite of his father. The Council believed he lacked the fortitude." Giles chuckled. "I must say, knowing Spike, it would appear they judged the book by its cover. And then, of course, he disappeared."  
  
"When he got vamped."  
  
"It was a bit of a family mystery. Over the course of a month, the entire branch of the family vanished. His father was rather infamous; it was assumed he had something to do with it."  
  
"Spike... killed his whole family?"  
  
"Ah, no. I've spoken to Angel about this. Angelus was the one who killed Spike's family... save Spike's mother, who Spike turned."  
  
"He turned his _mom_?"  
  
"She was quite ill. Wood has suggested to me that Spike was trying to save her."  
  
"Whoa-whoa. Wood and Spike had a talk about _mommies_?"  
  
"The memory of turning his mother was what the First was using to trigger him, Buffy. Apparently, it was quite traumatic. Spike was very new, and apparently under the impression that his mother would be like him. He was mistaken."  
  
"What... what do you mean, like him?"  
  
"You're aware, of course, that Spike has never been terribly typical for a vampire?"  
  
"Uh... what?"  
  
"Spike has retained far more humanity in both body and mind than is normal for a vampire, even one of the Aurelian bloodline. You've no doubt noticed the differences between him and Angel. Spike eats, enjoys, and craves food; most vampires are disgusted by it. His hair and fingernails grow at nearly standard human rates. He has a much higher tolerance for sunlight, crosses, and holy water; his body temperature is warmer than standard, and his pain threshold and healing powers lower. Spike still breathes as a reflex, even after a century, and only goes into 'game face' under duress. You recall the spell Willow cast a few years ago, the one that erased our memories?"  
  
"How could I forget," Buffy shuddered.  
  
"A normal vampire under the effect of that spell -- and yes, Marianne and I tested this empirically -- would 'come to' in game face, their true face. It would appear that Spike's human visage _is_ his true face, or at least his dominant one. And if Marianne's sources are correct, Spike was something of a... botched job."  
  
"Darla and Angelus. In my dream... they said Drusilla had screwed up, and Angelus could fix him... they tortured him..."  
  
"Angelus was repulsed and fascinated by him. He became a project, much as Drusilla had been before him... however, unlike Drusilla, Angelus never considered Spike to be a success. I daresay that if Spike had not made himself useful as Drusilla's caretaker, he would have been dust a century ago."  
  
"But why? Why is Spike different?"  
  
"Marianne hypothesized that it had something to do with Drusilla, that perhaps the creation of a vampire is more complex than we are currently aware. Perhaps Drusilla lacked the mental coherence for it; we know of only two vampires sired by her, and both had rather bizarre properties. Darla's ability to not only become pregnant but to be affected by the soul of her unborn child... Spike's human qualities, his ability to love, certainly his independent decision to go acquire a soul... which, I must say, I'm rather relieved that he did."  
  
"Um... why _relieved_?"  
  
"Ah," Giles smiled. "You recall that when you confessed you were sleeping with Spike, I began to... well... laugh, rather hysterically?"  
  
Buffy nodded.  
  
"There's a prophecy. Well, a fragment of a prophecy, part of the Shanshu Cycle. Concerning the union of a Slayer and a vampire champion. When you originally began your relationship with Angel, I researched it a bit, but it very definitely specifies that the vampire does _not_ have a soul. When you, ah, removed Angel's soul, I thought perhaps it was coming to pass, but Angelus is no champion. The notion that Spike could be the vampire in the prophecy... well, knowing the annoying bastard, I found it rather hilarious. Fortunately, his soul was restored, which means the prophecy can't possibly apply to him."  
  
"Okay... can I just say how _incredibly_ sick of prophecies I am?"  
  
"Well, there's no need for you to worry about this one. There's all manner of things that invalidate it. Spike hardly commands a vampire army, and I daresay we'd remember if you'd cut off both his hands. The whole thing's probably folderol at any rate, there's a whole section that reads like a twisted version of Genesis with begatting." Giles chewed on the earpiece of his glasses for a moment. "Buffy... you don't suppose... you don't suppose this might refer to the Immortal, do you? He is quite powerful..."  
  
"Not, like, commands-an-army kind of powerful, though..."  
  
"Well, the language _is_ archaic. I don't believe they'd have a word for 'international staff of minions' _other_ than 'army'... Buffy, do you love him?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"The Immortal. Do you love him?"  
  
"Um. Gotta go with 'no'. I mean, he's really nice and all, but..."  
  
Giles nodded. "Well, you'd know, I think, if you were in the sort of true love that the prophecy refers to."  
  
Buffy examined her fingernails. "Yeah..."  
  
"Besides," Giles chuckled, "It'd be a bit difficult to ignore the whole bursting-into-flame aspect."  
  
"The, uh... what?"  
  
"It may not be literal. It probably isn't. The prophecy is a bit... well, to be frank, parts of it are rather horridly cheesy. Perhaps the translator is at fault. Supposedly the first time the soulless Champion and the Slayer touch with 'true love', they burst into 'a flame that burns not, yet casts light on all', la-la-la. It's all rather revoltingly melodramatic."  
  
Giles paused, his eyes on Buffy's face. "Buffy? Buffy, are you quite all right?"


	22. Love Hurts, Baby

A/N: Wow. Got lots n' lots of e-mail after that last chapter. To clear some things up:  
  
1. I am not on crack, but thanks for asking; Drusilla _did_ sire Darla, in _Angel_ episode 31, "The Trial". Darla had previously been resurrected by Wolfram & Hart as a human.  
  
2. Yes, Spike had a soul when he put the amulet on. However, as Drusilla explains in Chapter Eighteen ("Midnight Descends"), Spike's soul was the fuel powering the amulet. For my evil purposes, when Spike says _"My soul. It's really there. Kinda stings,"_ in "Chosen", he is feeling his soul burn up. Later, when she touches him right before he dusts, his soul has already been burnt up.  
  
3. The part of the Shanshu Scriptures that Angel read _did_ only refer to a vampire with a soul. However, as Angel is told in episode 96, "Destiny"...  
  
_"You read a translation of the prophecy. It's like comparing the King James Bible with the original Aramaic, the Hebrew. Much of the flavor, the subtlety of usage, the historical context has been stripped away. Read the prophecy? You may as well have read a 12-year-old's book report on the subject."  
_  
Angel references this speech in Chapter Sixteen ("Prophecies On Prophecies"):  
  
_"Hell if I know," Angel muttered. "I read a version, but apparently that's like reading a twelve-year-old's book report on the subject."_  
  
He is also told that the entire Shanshu Scriptures have yet to be translated. So, through the magic of fanwanking, I'm saying that there's more to the Shanshu Scriptures than just the part about the vampire with the soul that's got Angel all hot n' bothered.  
  
4. And while I'm being an explain-a-thon: during Spike and Angel's phone conversation in Chapter Seven ("Gilligan's Isle"), _Spike_ thought they were talking about Angel being back together with Buffy; _Angel_ thought they were talking about the Shanshu prophecy. So Spike had no idea Angel had become human until he was informed by Drusilla's minions (Chapter Sixteen), and Angel and Buffy still have no idea that Spike thinks they're together.  
  
And now, on with the show. 

* * *

Consciousness came slowly, bringing with it the realization that the immediate situation, at least, had definitely improved; he was lying on his stomach across something soft, his wounds were bandaged, and a cold washcloth was being gently mopped across his shoulderblades.  
  
It took a few tries, but he managed to get his eyelids open.  
  
"Welcome back," Anya smiled. "It's encouraging that you've regained consciousness, although you do unpleasantly reek of bacon."  
  
Spike groaned. "Kinda _feel_ like bacon, pet."  
  
"Well, let this be a lesson to you not to let your insane ex-girlfriends nail you to crosses."  
  
"I'll keep it in mind." Spike hissed as the cloth hit a particularly tender spot. "Where's the Million Vampire March?"  
  
"Off minioning somewhere. I made sure they all went away. And I've even located a spot on your body where you aren't burned or wounded that I can pat reassuringly, see?"  
  
"Swell," Spike mumbled, his eyes fluttering closed again. "Anya?"  
  
"Yes, Spike?" She peered at his face. "Oh. Well, I suppose passing out again is good, too."  
  
She smiled and patted the spot.

* * *

__

_He dances with Drusilla through the century.  
  
She could dance, really dance, his Dru; sometimes it seemed she never stopped dancing, her hips twirling to a rhythm only she could hear, her thin arms swaying like charmed snakes above her head, the gorgeous darkness of her, wide-eyed and hungry, waves of deepest black rippling down her waist, sliding like silk through his fingers, his ripe, wicked plum, his bloodsoaked princess, his black goddess.  
  
He thinks of her in purples and reds and blacks, bruise and blood and midnight, the pale satin of her skin as she writhed around him, against him, her fingernails digging into his flesh, marking him as her own. No one knew him like she did, every inch of his skin, every thought in his mind; he could never hide from Dru, never wanted to, wanted to be consumed by her utterly, wanted to die inside her, lived to please her.  
  
She reminded him of a music box his mother had owned, a beautiful thing, inlaid with carvings that teased his fingers. It had fascinated him; he had spent hours winding it up. Not so much for the music... that was pretty, but he loved those molasses moments when the music ran down, the notes stretching and breaking, turning to dissonance, so indescribably chilling, and he'd loved the icy drops of fear that would creep up his spine, the delicious creepiness of that sound, the way something so innocent, so delicate, so pretty could turn malevolent with a mere slowing of gears.  
  
No, it was no surprise that he'd grown up to belong to Dru.  
  
Soft and yielding, icy and clawing like a cat, raving and shivering, moonlight-pale and gasping beneath him, she'd been the ultimate antidote to tedium for a man with a severe boredom allergy. Dru breathed violence, passion, mystery; he'd needed her more than blood, she was the blood, the reason he could live in the darkness, what gave it poetry. He belonged in the shadows, with her.  
  
Raven waves spread out on the pillow beneath her head, hands and little bony fingers skipping across his skin, feather-light, murmuring nonsense words into his shoulderblades; the alabaster of her skin against the blackness of his duster, fucking her savagely in the gardens of Versailles, night always above them, Dru's beloved stars, all with the same name, so much confusion, and Spike fucks her harder because he knows they are all named "Angelus"...  
  
Never having all of her. Never able to touch her deepest place, the shackled knot of chains within her, the place that screams for Daddy to hurt her, and he knows, he knows, that if he could just love her enough, if he could just work that knot free, she would be sane and his and his and his...  
  
Crumbling to dust beneath him, the splintered wood clutched in the ragged wound of his hand...  
  
And for a second, he'd seen it.  
  
Sanity in her eyes.  
  
Love in her eyes.  
  
He thinks what she was whispering was "Thank You".  
  
There aren't tears enough in the world._

* * *

Dawn... no, _Tara_, he should call her _Tara_ now, fed a dollar into the jukebox... and any lingering doubts Wesley might have had about her transformation dissolved when something mournful, acoustic, and not sung by five matching boys began to pour out of the brightly pulsing machine.  
  
He watched Tara because he couldn't bear to look across the booth, and not looking across the booth was like trying not to think about pink elephants. Illyria, true to her word, was in full-on Fred mode, somehow managing to make demolishing a Grand Slam Breakfast the most adorable, endearing, heartbreaking thing in the world, and he would... not... look.  
  
Wesley was amused to discover that he actually missed Spike. Irritating, obnoxious, ascerbic, yes; but beyond those things, there was something about Spike that calmed Wesley.  
  
Spike... adapted. It was one of his more intriguing qualities. Scream, cry, get drunk, lash out, yes, all these things... but at some point, Spike would quirk that scarred eyebrow and adapt. Sitting here in the Denny's at three a.m., faced with the shells of Dawn and Fred, faced with the realities of Tara and Illyria, Spike would have bitched and quipped and mocked and _dealt_, as he'd dealt with everything his vampiric existence had thrown at him, from madwomen to behavior modification chips to a soul to ghostdom.  
  
And somewhere deep inside Wesley, there was a pleasurable twinge of thrill at just how much it would piss Angel off to know that Wes considered Spike any kind of a role model.  
  
Tara slid back into the booth, picking up her slice of toast and casting a smile in Fred's... Illyria, dammit, _Illyria's_... direction.  
  
"Can I have her metabolism for Christmas?"  
  
"I would suspect that you already do."  
  
Tara considered this. "So... where are we now?"  
  
"Just outside of Oxnard." He stuck his fork into his eggs... then froze.  
  
_Yeah. You always know where you are.  
  
It's my particular skill.  
  
This is only the first layer. Don't you wanna see how deep I go?_  
  
"Wesley?" Tara said, and he looked up to find both her and F... _Illyria_ staring at him curiously.  
  
"I'm sorry. What?"  
  
"Are we going to try and find the others... or wait for Spike to come back with Connor?"  
  
"Perhaps we ought to give Spike a few more days, although it's possible he'll want to take Connor straight to Angel."  
  
"He really shouldn't have smashed his cell phone," Illyria said in Fred's little mournful voice. "He's so touchy about Buffy. It's kinda sad."  
  
He will not flinch. He will not flinch. He will not flinch.  
  
"Yes, well." He flattened his palm on the formica, willed his voice to stillness. "We men can be rather illogical when it comes to love."  
  
"Is that right?"  
  
Oh, dear God. She was _batting_ her _eyelashes_ at him, her tongue twirling around her spoon, playful and teasing and _Fred_ and this, this was the most evil thing the Hellbitch had done in millennia.  
  
_This is only the first layer.  
  
Don't you wanna see how deep I go?  
  
_Wesley smiled painfully. "So I've found in my research."  
  
"Research, huh? Sounds _intriguing_." And, oh God, the smutty little giggle, the one that pierced him in his heart... and areas of lower latitude.  
  
_Don't you wanna see how deep I go?  
  
_Tara looked between the two of them, and Wesley was struck again by how she was Dawn yet not Dawn, the subtle _wrongness_ of her. This was something he really ought to research, a once-in-lifetime chance to explore the boundary between nature and nurture.  
  
Unfortunately, he didn't much give a damn.  
  
_Don't you wanna see how deep I go?  
  
_Tara cleared her throat. "Well, if we're staying put for a few days... Illyria, maybe you and I could have some girl time, y'know? Go out. Get you some new clothes, a haircut... you ever thought about dyeing your hair? It's kinda fun."  
  
Wesley was overcome with a gratitude so deep he almost leaned over and kissed her. "I think that's a marvelous idea."  
  
Or rather, he did until he saw something that looked like genuine pain flash over Fred's... Illyria, dammit, _Illyria's_ face. When she spoke, all the Fred had vanished from her voice.  
  
"You wish me to modify the shell so that my human visage bears less resemblance to Winifred Burkle."  
  
"I, ah... I think that would be a good compromise, yes. You would still look human enough for our purposes, yet... it would be..."  
  
"Less painful for you."  
  
Wesley smiled creakily. "Yes."  
  
"Very well. The witch and I will modify the shell. I have a curious lack of interest in causing you pain, Wesley."  
  
_Don't you wanna see how deep I go?  
_  
"We'll adapt," Wesley replied.

* * *

"Hey, B."  
  
"Hey, Faith," Buffy sighed. She hadn't realized she'd been instinctively following the smell of cigarette smoke until she reached the source.  
  
Faith raised it for inspection. "Want me to put it out?"  
  
"No. Please don't. I mean, you were here first, and..." Buffy sighed. "It's... kind of nice, actually."  
  
"You miss Spike," Faith smiled knowingly. "That's cool. Been there."  
  
Buffy's lips twitched. "Missing Spike?"  
  
"Nah. Not that he ain't hot or nothin'. Just... missin' someone, wantin' little stuff that reminds you of 'em. Angel drew me a picture once. Picture of me, y'know? Dude can draw. Mailed it to me in jail. Every time I looked at it, was like I could feel him there. Somebody who gave a shit. Inspirational or whatever."  
  
"Faith: A Tiny Little Division Of Hallmark."  
  
"_Roses are red, Violets are blue, somewhere this dead guy, gives a shit about you_. Yeah, I could start a card line." Faith stretched like a cat, muscles working, joints popping. "Don't know about you, B., but I'm seriously hatin' this cave thing. All cooped up. When do we fight, already?"  
  
"We're regrouping."  
  
"Yeah, whatever. Gettin' restless. 'Bout to wear Wood's ass out."  
  
Buffy smiled thinly. "Mmm, unnecessary information..."  
  
"You don't wear prude as good as you used to, B. Don't know why you try. Relax a little." Faith passed over a silver flask. "Here. This might help."  
  
Buffy turned the flask over in her fingers, examining the engravings that swirled around it. "This is... this is _Spike's_, isn't it?"  
  
"Yeah. He gave it to me, night before it all went down. Think he knew he wasn't comin' out of the hellmouth." Faith smiled. "He's kinda alright. Not that I can say that in front of Wood."  
  
"Still hates him?" Buffy took a little swig, made a horrible face.  
  
"Killed his mom, y'know." Faith waved her hand dismissively. "Theirs is a hate for all time and all that shit."  
  
"How are things going with you two?"  
  
"They're pretty good," Faith grinned. "I like him. Doesn't take my crap, good in the sack, nice to me."  
  
Buffy shot her a dubious look, and Faith laughed, her hand rising to toy with her neck. "What? Don't look at me like that, I ain't _you_, B. Everything doesn't have to be _epic_."  
  
"Then why are you playing with that bite mark?" Buffy asked quietly.  
  
Faith froze, then laughed nervously. "Habit, man. Forgot we matched, yeah? 'Course, you got yours from the nicer, souled-up version. Probably why it's prettier."  
  
"Do you love him?"  
  
"Aw, c'mon, B., I'd have to be _wicked_ stupid to..."  
  
"_That_ wasn't an answer."  
  
Faith lit another cigarette. "You know, you were right. I _do_ miss Spike."  
  
"Changing the subject?"  
  
"Not really. Got stuff in common, Spike n' me. Wish I'd gotten to talk to him more. Y'know, before he broke my face to defend your virtue." Faith paused, a strange smile spreading. "Thought about that a lot, this year in Cleveland. You n' me. Angel n' Spike."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Good Slayer. Bad Slayer. Good Vampire. Bad Vampire. And then, me n' Spike both tryin' to get out of the evil thing, be better than we'd decided to be, havin' to work our asses off to get out from underneath the weight of the shit we did."  
  
Faith sighed, tapping ashes. "Ain't our natures, know what I'm sayin'? Leather n' combat boots n' cigarettes. Want. Take. Have. Fuckin' n' fightin', grabbin' life by the horns and shovin' your knee in its balls, y'know? Laughin' out loud when you hear the bones break. Spike n' me, we're like that dirty old bar where you go to have fun but won't take your Mom. Got our own kinda charm, but don't fit too good into the white knight society."  
  
Buffy chewed her lip, and Faith pressed her point.  
  
"C'mon, B. It's right there. Angel believin' in me, pissin' you off. You believin' in Spike, pissin' Angel off. Spike and I both tryin' to be worthy of that belief, y'know? Usin' you guys like those carrots on a stick, leadin' us to the light side of the Force. Tryin' to live up to you guys, tryin' to measure up to the fairytale that is _Angel and Buffy_."  
  
"You're in love with Angel."  
  
Faith shot her a glance. "Duh, B. Not that it matters. For me or for Spike. That's somethin' else we have in common. Not bein' worthy. And that's cool."  
  
"Faith, you shouldn't..."  
  
"What, be realistic? C'mon. There's a list, right? Angel and you and Cordelia and that Immortal guy and Riley and Nina and way, way down at the bottom, like fallin' off the page kinda bottom, there's me and Spike. We know what we are, okay?"  
  
"And... what are you, exactly?"  
  
Faith shrugged. "The Mary Magdalenes to your Jesuses?"  
  
"That's..." Buffy sputtered. "That's..."  
  
"We keep _tryin'_ to die instead of you guys," Faith chuckled. "Never does work out for us. Spike's got crap taste in jewelry and I've got a real high tolerance for drugs. So we'll just keep annoyin' the hell out of everyone, kickin' em in the head so they don't know how bad we want 'em to like us."  
  
"Faith... does Angel know? How you feel?"  
  
"Hell, no. At least I hope he doesn't." Faith stood, knees popping. "Cordelia's back, anyway."  
  
"Faith, wait. It's not... with the not worthiness. You shouldn't think like that, it isn't like that, Angel and I aren't some... I mean, I love Spike..."  
  
"No, you don't, B.," Faith smiled, squeezing her shoulder before turning to leave. "But hey -- thanks for sayin' it."


	23. Promoted

A/N: This and all my BtVS stories are being archived over at my Livejournal now (theohara) if you'd like them on your friends list while they're fresh from the oven.

* * *

Buffy leaned her head back against the cave wall, turning the flask to and fro in her hands.  
  
Tired. She was so insanely tired, the kind of tired that sleep never cured, the kind that crashed back down on you in the morning. Those first blissful five seconds when all you knew was _pillow is yay_, and then it hit you: who you were. Who you'd lose next. Who you'd already lost.  
  
_Every Slayer has a death wish.  
_  
She'd hit her expiration date and stayed in the fridge, getting paler and losing flavor, conviction and fire seeping out of her, leaving the world a fuzzy grey place without boundaries, everything blurring together, days and weeks and people and apocalypses. Time for her to be thrown out and replaced with some nice fresh fifteen-year-old, plump-cheeked and eager for the thrill of the hunt.  
  
She'd been replaced but not thrown out, and the feeling of being _used up_ remained.  
  
She'd filled her time, filled her days, sinking deeper and deeper into her own head, grown comfortable there; people buzzed around her making annoying noises, wanting things from her she no longer knew how to provide. Enthusiasm. Empathy. Passion. To help her, to try to give her what she wanted.  
  
Buffy knew _exactly_ what she wanted.  
  
She wanted to be lying facedown, naked, on the bed in Spike's crypt in Sunnydale, with the fluffier of his two pillows wedged underneath her head and the flatter elevating one leg. She wanted him sitting next to her, propped up against the headboard, barefoot, wearing only his jeans, his hair all rumpled. She wanted a book in his right hand and a beer bottle in his left, curling the beer to his chest the way he did, the ring on his index finger clinking against the glass, his lips worrying absently with the tip as he read. Orally fixated. _So_ with the orally fixated.  
  
And she wanted to watch him read, periodically stretching against the softness of his sheets, wanted to perv over the gorgeousness of his fingers curled around his beer, wanted to contemplate fixing his chipping nail polish, wanted to decide she felt just too damned lazy and comfortable for that right now. Wanted to let out a little sigh of contentment, wanted him to shoot her an amused look over the top of the book.  
  
Wanted him to occasionally let out a derisive snort at his reading, let out a snarky comment she could snark right back to, meeting his eyes for just a moment, a shared smile.  
  
It had never happened. Oh, every _part_ of it had; bed-nakedness, watching him read, watching him chew on a bottle-tip, mutual snark, mutual silence... Lego pieces she'd constructed this fantasy from. It was where she imagined herself at night when she tried to sleep; her happy place, a world that she wove around whatever bed she was actually in.  
  
Spike was a terrible, horrible, catastrophic match for the person she wanted to be: the brave, stalwart Slayer, certain in her righteousness, chooser of the right path and the high road, perfect and noble and together and on top of it and normal and pure. That girl should never be with Spike, should have dusted Spike on sight and rejoiced in ridding the world of evil.  
  
The thing was... Spike was a pretty fantastic match for the person she actually _was_, confused and prickly and sarcastic and hopelessly undomestic with a secret abhorrance for small children and most people, violent and kinky and possessive and stubborn and vain.  
  
She looked at Spike and she saw herself, and it _terrified_ her that the Scoobies hated him, like he was a canary she'd sent down into their mine shaft that had croaked in five seconds. There but for the fakeness of me go I.  
  
So she'd kicked him away and distanced herself and oh, he's evil evil evil evil and I am not not not. He'd said she belonged in the shadows with him, and it had terrified her because so much of her wanted to go; he'd tried to force himself on her and all she'd been able to see was her own face, her own heart, her own pain shining through his eyes, the feelings, the potential within her that had caused a ghost to choose her four years before...  
  
_Then tell me you don't love me! Say it!  
_  
_Don't walk away from me, bitch!  
  
_The gun in her hand, the desperation that had been the ghost's and her own, the words that weren't hers but spoke for her, the way something inside her had rejoiced as the bullet tore through Angelus even as James was keening in sorrow.  
  
She didn't want to be the person who needed Spike, didn't want to be the one who silently laughed at his jokes, who secretly thought he had a point a lot of the time, didn't want to be the kind of girl who loved the way alcohol tasted on his lips and coursed with feminine power when she made his eyes roll back in his head and his back arch and reduced that wiseass, delicious mouth to babbling curse words and her name in a mindless stream.  
  
Didn't want to be the girl who got turned on by killing things, who got turned on watching _Spike_ kill things, the girl who'd really, really wanted to dance, the girl with a secret appetite for mayhem that had been unleashed with an invisibility ray, the girl who felt soul-sick and horrible for the things Righteous Slayer Girl had done, like beat him to a pulp in an alley and blow up his crypt.  
  
She couldn't even blame her half-a-soul for it; the other half of her soul, code-named Dawn, loved Spike too... maybe even more, certainly loved him differently, loved him without reservation, loved him felonious and snarky and creeping into coal-bins, loved him _because_ he told blunt painful truths and didn't see any problem with helping a fourteen-year-old commit breaking and entering.  
  
God. Dawn. Not just her blood; she _was_ her. Right down to the very last  
  
_You're not from Bullock's, are you? 'Cause I-I meant to pay for that lipstick...  
  
_dirty little detail, minus one overwhelming case of Slayeritis.  
  
Trying to be what Giles wanted, what Willow expected, what Xander demanded.

Trying to be the blank, blonde mirror that Angel could see his redemption in.

What was she to Angel?  
  
What was Angel to her?  
  
For years, she'd had a perverse desire to run to Angel and tell him everything. As much as Righteous Slayer Girl had wanted to hide it, had wanted to be the girl in the white dress, another part of her had wanted to throw it all in his face, every last little dirty bit of it.  
  
_Hey, Angel? Guess what? I made Dawn's social worker lose her job so no one would find out how bad Dawn's home life was. Do you love me now? Part of me didn't want to stop Willow from ending the world! Do you love me now? When Xander tries to sneak peeks down my shirt, sometimes I bend over and give him a better look! Do you love me now?  
  
When I dropped burgers on the floor, I'd put them right back on the buns if the customers were assholes! Do you love me now? I'm happy that Willow is cheating on Kennedy, because Kennedy annoys the shit out of me and I want them to break up! Do you love me now? I think about shipping Dawn off to Dad at least once a day! Do you love me now?  
  
I made Spike screw me next to a dumpster at the DoubleMeat Palace and I got off on how sleazy it was! Do you love me now? I used to beg him to bite me and he wouldn't do it! Do you love me now? I used to pretend Riley was Spike in bed! Do you love me now?  
  
Did you ever love me, or did you just love the idea that the Champion of Good could love you?  
  
Would you still love me if you had the slightest idea who I really was?  
  
Would anyone love me?  
  
Anyone besides Spike?  
  
_Did _Spike_ even still love her? He'd asked Andrew not to tell her he was alive, he'd come to Rome without seeing her, he'd run off with Goth Stormtrooper Slut instead of even saying hello, he'd made no attempt to join them here, he'd hung up when Angel passed the phone to her, he hadn't contacted anyone since.  
  
"I have not even the tiniest clue what I'm doing," Buffy said out loud, experimentally. It bounced around the cavern a bit, and no one screamed in horror.  
  
Angel was human. That should -- that ought to mean something, right? First love, soulmate, getting the ultimate thing that would let them be together, the dream come true?  
  
So why couldn't she stop thinking about Spike?  
  
So why had Angel run off like someone had cattle-prodded him when Cordelia called?  
  
And why did that bother her more for Faith than it did for herself?  
  
And who the hell was _Nina_?  
  
And why was it that looking at Angel now filled her with a rush of love... the same way looking at Xander did?  
  
Angel was heroic. Hot. Smart. Funny. God, she'd forgotten how _funny_ he was, those little dry comments, the head-shake, the lip-twitches. It was so good to see him, so great to work with him again, so nice to have him around, so comforting to have laid next to him...  
  
But.  
  
Kissing him? That had been... weird, even weirder than their "hello" from before. Not bad, not at all... it had been comforting, familiar, and he was a good kisser... but it had lacked the desperate sweetness they'd had before, lacked the rush and the desire and the need, and she had really thought she'd heard relief in his voice when she'd pretended to fall asleep.  
  
So... what? Where did that leave her? I mean, technically she was still dating the  
  
_(Spike-Bot)  
_  
... Immortal, but...  
  
What the hell had Gunn meant when he'd said Spike loved Fred? Loved like puppies? Loved like buddies? Or loved in the kind of way that sent chandeliers crashing to the ground?  
  
And what was that little offhand crack Angel had made about Spike and Harmony?  
  
What was she supposed to do now? Hang around outside his window chain-smoking? Build a little shrine in her basement? Tie Angel to a pole and threaten to stake him?  
  
And what was up with this prophecy thing? She'd never told anyone about the extra-flameys when she'd said goodbye to Spike, and hello -- he definitely had a soul, she'd seen it eat him alive and torture him and round off his edges and make him quiet and give him stupid ideas like _have you hugged a cross today?_ and _huh, I think I'll move right on top of the hellmouth and eat me some rats_.  
  
Why the hell wasn't he _here_? Even when she'd hated him, he'd always come back, there wasn't any getting rid of him... until she _needed_ him, until she desperately wanted to talk to him and... other things, until she could barely keep herself in the cave for the wanting to steal the freakin' schoolbus and drive through California until she found him and could give him the swift kick to the groin he so richly deserved for not being here.  
  
He'd known she had half a soul. Had known for years.  
  
_I've given you everything that I have, I've given you my heart, my body and soul!  
  
You say that, but I don't feel it. I just don't feel it._  
  
Had he... had he realized that she didn't have enough soul for him? The way Spike loved...  
  
_Great love is wild and passionate and dangerous. It burns and consumes...  
  
_Maybe the soul had cured him of his whole in-love-with-pain thing. Maybe he'd realized that Buffy didn't, couldn't, love him the way he'd loved her.  
  
Maybe he'd found someone who could, someone with a whole soul. She'd told him he couldn't love without one; did that mean that she could only half-love?  
  
Why did she have to _think_? Why couldn't things just be simple? Something nasty shows up, Scoobies make with the library books, tell her what to kill, she kills it. Easy. Straightforward. Buffy good, beasties bad, Xander gets the donuts, yay.  
  
Easy, straightforward, and didn't work with _anything_ else, no matter how many times she tried to apply the principle.  
  
She just wanted to be... a force. A weapon. Point her at something, let her slay and quip until the bad thing was dead. Not so much with the decision-making and the philosophy of evil and the hard choices and the sacrifices.  
  
"Buffy?"  
  
She came out of her reverie with a start. "Hey, Xan."  
  
"I can't believe that these words are actually coming from my lips, but _Cordelia's_ called a war meeting. One of her freaky vision-things."  
  
Buffy stood, wiping dust off her thighs. "_Another_ meeting. Led by _Cordelia_. Wow. My enthusiasm knows all bounds."  
  
"Buffy, I..." Xander took a deep breath. "I thought maybe you'd... want a minute before the meeting. 'Cause something kinda... appeared, and it looks like we've got word on Spike. Well, not so much word as, uh... well... here."  
  
Xander pulled a small white square from his pocket.  
  
"What's this?"  
  
"It's a picture. Special magical delivery, woo-hoo. Part of a greater, um, ransom-demanding package. They weren't gonna show it to you, but... I thought... well. Anyway, I swiped it. Buffy... it's from Drusilla."  
  
"Drusilla," Buffy repeated, something cold and icy travelling up her spine.  
  
Xander held out the photograph, and Buffy raised it to her face.  
  
Oh, God.  
  
Oh, _God_.  
  
_The Mary Magdalenes to your Jesuses...  
  
_Buffy made a low, choking sound in her throat.  
  
"Looks like he got promoted," she whispered.


	24. The War Room

"We've got trouble," Cordelia said flatly, when they had all sat and turned their gazes towards her. "With a capital T, and that comes after S, and that stands for Shanshu. Prophecy, that is, and namely, the lack of anyone to fulfill it. Angel, it looks like it wasn't the _good_ blue fairy who made you a real boy."  
  
"Cordelia, if you could possibly speak English, we'd all be most appreciative," Giles murmured.  
  
Cordelia paced. "The Shanshu prophecy isn't just the reward a good boy gets. It's something that _needs_ to be fulfilled if we're going to win this war. And there are no vampires with souls left in the world to fulfill it."  
  
Buffy's strangled gasp drowned out softer ones around the room, and Xander's eyes flew wide. "That picture... Spike's _dead_?"  
  
"Spike's not _dead_, Xander," Cordy sighed. "Well, okay, he's not_ more_ dead. But he doesn't have a _soul_. That leaves us with a grand total of _zero_ vampires who can fulfill that part of the Shanshu Prophecy, and _way_ screwed."  
  
"I'm afraid you're mistaken, Cordelia. Spike does indeed have a soul. I realize you weren't around then, but..."  
  
"No, I'm afraid _you're_ mistaken, Giles. That little sparkly necklace that Angel brought to Sunnydale? Because it's such a _fabulous_ idea to trust Wolfram & Hart? It was a _trap_. Wolfram & Hart didn't give a crap about the First and its ugly little army, okay? They wanted Angelus running the L.A. branch of our favorite evil law firm and Angel permanently out of the picture."  
  
"Cordy," Angel frowned, "What are you saying here?"  
  
"That amulet runs on soul-power, Angel. It converts the soul to pure light, and destroys it... _permanently_... in the process. If you'd been the one to wear it, the part of you that makes you Angel and not Angelus would have gone perma-poof. Angelus would have been trapped in the amulet just like Spike was, come back as a ghost just like Spike did, have been bound to Wolfram & Hart just like Spike was. Their very own pet evil mastermind, incorporeal so he couldn't hurt them, on a leash. You can see the evil appeal."  
  
"You're saying Spike hasn't had a soul since he showed up at Wolfram & Hart?" Gunn asked incredulously. "But he fought with us. Was willing to die for us. Was going out and helping the helpless for no reward. Sacrificed himself for Fred. You _gotta_ be wrong about this, Cordy."  
  
"Sorry, Gunn. This is straight from the you-know-who. Spike's soul go bye-bye."  
  
"But..." Gunn protested. "He was... I mean, I've _met_ Angelus..."  
  
"Spike's not Angelus," Cordelia shrugged.  
  
"He _did_ change," Andrew said quietly.  
  
"What's that, Nerd-Boy?"  
  
"Spike," Andrew said in a louder tone. "I'm the only one who spent any time with him before, during, and after the soul-having. He _did_ change. I mean, not like Kirk and Spock in 'Mirror, Mirror', a universe which was revisited both on Deep Space Nine and in the novel..."  
  
"_Andrew!_"  
  
"Anyway," Andrew continued plaintively. "It was subtle, but it was there. He seemed... _edgier_. And also, kinda less insane."  
  
"Wait a damn minute," Gunn held up a hand. "_Angel_ wants to save the world. _Angelus_ wants to destroy the world. And the difference between _Spike_ with a soul and Spike without is... _edge_? What the hell was Spike like _with_ a soul?"  
  
Xander grinned. "You mean before or _after_ the First Evil used him as a big bleachy hand puppet?"  
  
"Can we please leave puppets out of this?" Angel muttered.  
  
"After, I guess. I mean, I got to know Spike pretty well. Pain in the ass, but a damn good guy, kinda guy you'd be glad had your back. Had heart. Wouldn't call him evil."  
  
"He was quieter," Willow offered. "With the soul. More depressy. Like he was under a weight all the time. He kinda... lost the glee. Not so much with the I-kill-things-yay."  
  
"He was kind of a pussy," Kennedy finished.  
  
Xander rolled his eyes. "_So_ glad you decided to add insightful commentary."  
  
"Well! He was! All 'doing what I do best' and then getting thrown through the ceiling." Kennedy smirked. "It was _insanely_ lame."  
  
"Oh, yeah?" Faith challenged. "I didn't see _you_ steppin' up. He got the job done."  
  
"Hey, I'm not... I'm just saying...!"  
  
Buffy's palms slapped down on the table. "Why don't you _not_ say anything? You don't know Spike, you never did, and you don't know what he went through, so why don't you keep your bloody mouth shut?"  
  
Stunned silence ringed the table, stretching out for seconds.  
  
"Bloody?" Angel mouthed silently.  
  
"Look, people," Cordelia finally said, "This isn't _about_ Spike. At least, _this_ part isn't. We'll get to the part about Spike later, okay? Maybe you guys can have a little after-meeting party and discuss the relative merits of Spike through the ages, but right now, we're still talking about Angel."  
  
She unrolled a scroll laying in front of her on the table, and Giles pushed his glasses higher. "Cordelia, is that..."  
  
"The Shanshu Cycle. The _whole_ Shanshu Cycle. Little cavewarming present from the guys upstairs."  
  
"Good lord," Giles breathed.  
  
"Now, okay," Cordelia pointed towards the scroll. "Three major dealies in the Shanshu Cycle that we need to be concerned with right now. One, the destiny of the vampire with a soul."  
  
"That's what I don't understand," Angel protested. "There was this big... _thing_ about there being two vampires with souls in the world, and the wheel of whatever being off balance..."  
  
"And who _told_ you that, Angel? Your good groin-buddy Eve, who's _never_ led you astray?"  
  
"But... the building shook," Angel said plaintively. "And the... phones were weird."  
  
"Oh, the _phones _were weird? Well, it must be true then! Angel -- Eve and Lindsey unleashed some _serious_ magic to cut Wolfram & Hart's leash off Spike. They wanted to use him to take you down, and it nearly worked! You guys nearly battled to the death over a cup of Mountain Dew, for God's sake!"  
  
"She's not really... I wouldn't call her a... _groin-buddy_," Angel continued sheepishly.  
  
Xander raised his hand. "Vote for new topic not involving Angel's groin?"  
  
"Seconded," Cordelia said firmly. "Angel, you weren't _meant_ to become human. Not now. Not before you'd fulfilled your destiny."  
  
"Couldn't someone else do it?" Willow suggested. "I mean, Angel's wanted to be human for so long. Seems kinda sucky to give it to him and then take it away again."  
  
"Wouldn't be the first time," Angel muttered. "Didn't even get ice cream..."  
  
"Couldn't we just re-soul Spike? I'm good with that spell..."  
  
"Willow," Cordelia groaned, "What part of 'permanently destroyed' didn't register with you?"  
  
"Hey! It wouldn't have to be Spike's _original_ soul! It's just a vampire with _a_ soul, right? Couldn't we just put someone else's soul into him?"  
  
"Y'know, it's _really_ funny you should bring that up, but I am _not_ letting you people get me off topic again. It just can't be Spike. He's got something else to do."  
  
"_He's_ the soulless champion," Giles sighed wearily. "_Fabulous_. A bloody nightmare come true."  
  
"Right in one. But again with the off-topic..."  
  
"I'm gonna have to become a vampire again," Angel groaned.  
  
"Why's it gotta be you, Angel?" Gunn asked. "I mean, there's no shortage of vampires..."  
  
"Vampires we can trust? No, Gunn. If it can't be Spike, it's gotta be me."  
  
"Don't you have any more... kindly relatives hanging around?"  
  
"I wouldn't call the rest of my 'relatives' _kindly_, no," Angel chuckled. "Besides, the only one that's really left besides Spike is..."  
  
"Drusilla's dead, Angel," Cordelia said flatly.  
  
Angel blinked, shaking his head slowly. "_No_. Cordy, no. I would have... I would have known, I would have felt it..."  
  
"Hello? You're _human_ now, Angel! You don't get your weird vampy family-flashes anymore. Besides, I don't think Drusilla will be high on your hit parade when you know what her last act as an unperson was. She kidnapped _Connor_, Angel... and before you go all yo-ho-ho and raise the cavalry, he's already been rescued."  
  
"By whom?" Giles asked.  
  
"Spike."  
  
Angel processed this. "Spike had to fight _Dru_?"  
  
"Spike _dusted _her. Ripped himself off a crucifix, broke part of the cross off and staked her with it. It was kind of cool. Other than the terrible hair, the guy's got some style."  
  
"Drusilla... _crucified_ Spike..." Giles began to polish in a frenzy.  
  
"Yeah. But this _isn't_ the part where we talk about Spike! What do I have to do to keep you people on topic?"  
  
"Is Spike okay?"  
  
"He's fine, Buffy," Cordelia waved her hand dismissively. "Anya and Oz are taking care of him. And if we can get back on topic..."  
  
Willow's eyes widened. "_Excuse_ me?"  
  
"Back up," Xander hissed. "I want that last sentence one... more... time."  
  
"I _said_, 'And if we can get back on topic...'"  
  
Giles' fingers were frozen on the polishing cloth. "I _rather_ think Xander is referring to the bit where you mentioned _Anya,_ Cordelia."  
  
"Oh, yeah. Anya's back from the dead, too. Did I not mention that before? Xander, weren't you, like, dating her or something? What is your _deal_ with demons? Anyway, she'll be here soon, she and Oz are going to bring Connor back to Angel."  
  
Everyone opened their mouths at once.  
  
"You said... _Oz_?"  
  
"Anya and Oz but _not_ Spike? Why not Spike?"  
  
"Anya's back and with _Spike_?"  
  
"Cordelia," Giles said with icy patience, "Would you like to share with us exactly how many of our colleagues have returned from the grave without our knowledge?"  
  
"Um..." Cordelia looked at the ceiling, counting on her fingers. "Well, for starters, Wesley, yay! And uh... Anya, like I said, and oh, yeah, that Tara girl Willow used to date. I think that's it, for now."  
  
"Tara?" Willow's voice had suddenly become very, very small.  
  
"Yeah, but that's a _totally_ messed-up situation, with her in Dawn's body and all."  
  
"Beg pardon?" Giles choked.  
  
"Oh, yeah. Buffy, your little sister, she's a wacky one. She put a compulsion spell on Spike to force him to vamp her."  
  
"My little sister's a _vampire_?"  
  
"Tara?" Willow repeated blankly.  
  
"Can we get back to the part where Ahn's not _dead_ anymore?"  
  
"Can we _stay_ on the part where my little sister drinks _blood_?"  
  
"Dawn's not a vampire, Buffy. Tara stopped the process. But, Tara got stuck in Dawn, and Dawn's stuck in an Orb of Thesulah. None of which is what we are supposed to be talking about right now!"  
  
The room filled with noise again:  
  
"Tara's... _inside_ Dawnie?"  
  
"Good lord."  
  
"My sister's stuck in an _orb_?"  
  
"Where is Anya now, exactly?"  
  
"OKAY!" Cordelia yelled. "Nobody talks now but _me_! I don't care if I say that Bozo the _Clown_ came back from the dead and tap-danced on the Shroud of Turin singing 'Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer', _everybody_ shuts up until we get through with this prophecy thing!"  
  
"But..."  
  
"Nuh-uh!"  
  
"Geez," Angel muttered.  
  
"The vampire with a soul! Which we don't have! Angel, I think you're right, I think we're going to have to get Spike to revamp you."  
  
"The begattings," Giles murmured. "All those convoluted begattings, the father of his grandfather, the grandfather of his mother..."  
  
"Giles? I think you're _talking_. I think that's _not allowed_."  
  
"Carry on, Cordelia," Giles sighed.  
  
"Part Two: The mystic child. We're okay on that one, it's already been conceived. But Willow, no more magic for the rest of your pregnancy. Let Xander do it."  
  
Kennedy leapt up in her seat. "What the _hell_?"  
  
"Look, loud girl, you're not allowed to talk either. So sit down."  
  
"Willow _can't_ be pregnant."  
  
"Ohhh," Cordelia said knowingly. "So _you're_ the girlfriend. You know, people always say this, but honey, I know _exactly_ how you feel."  
  
"It's... not possible," Willow gasped. "That's... just not possible..."  
  
Cordelia's eyes flashed. "Yeah, huh, sure, _right_, Willow. 'Cause you _never_ cheat on significant others with _Xander_. Hey, when Oz gets here, maybe we can have a chat with him about that."  
  
"You slept with _Xander_?" Kennedy bellowed. "It was _Xander_?"  
  
"It was a spell! Kennedy... _baby_... I didn't mean to, it was a spell..."  
  
"Oh, _that's_ convenient! That works a _lot_ better than oh-I-was-drunk!"  
  
"Kennedy, you don't understand..."  
  
"You cheated on me," Kennedy repeated incredulously. "With a _man_?"  
  
"I didn't... cheat, it wasn't like that, we both blacked out... we don't even remember it..."  
  
"You cheated on me with... with _him_?" Kennedy pointed in Xander's direction, a look of disgust on her face. "He's... he's all _fat_ and he can't even _fight_!"  
  
"HEY!" Buffy and Xander yelled simultaneously.  
  
"Xander can so too _fight_!" Buffy screeched. "Xander is brave and good and saved the world and you can just _shut your face_ about Xander!"  
  
"What she said, only I would also add that I am _big boned_!"  
  
"Kennedy, dear, I can vouch for the fact that it wasn't their fault..." Giles tried.  
  
"You _all_ knew," Kennedy whispered, her hands curling into fists. "You all knew about this. And no one told me."  
  
"Kennedy..." Buffy sighed. "Look, it's not like we meant to keep it from you..."  
  
"Who's _we_? God, you are so full of yourself! Do you think I don't know how much you hate me?"  
  
"I don't... I don't... _hate_ you, I..."  
  
"Where do _you_ get off? News flash, Barbie, you're not 'The Slayer' anymore. You're one of _thousands_ of Slayers, and the only thing separating you from them is that you're _old_ and _washed-up_."  
  
Giles' eyes flashed. "That was a terribly stupid thing to say, Kennedy."  
  
"Oh? _Old_ and _washed_ up hit a little too close to home, _Rupert_?"  
  
"All right," Faith drawled, standing up and cracking her neck. "That's it. I'm sayin' we recess so I can kick some uppity bitch ass. Form a line."  
  
"Faith..."  
  
"What?" Faith demanded. "Look, I know you're wicked pissed, Ken, don't blame ya. But your girlfriend just found out she got knocked up against her will by the Powers-That-Meddle, and it ain't pretty when _I_ think you're bein' a brat, yo."  
  
Silence fell, and Faith whirled to Cordelia. "And _you_. You havin' fun, huh? Some particular reason you wanted to drop this bomb in front of everyone? They kissed. In _high school_. Get over it. _Christ!"  
  
_Her words echoed and hung in the air, silence except for Willow's soft sobs, everyone else staring blankly.  
  
"Perhaps we ought to move onto the third part of the prophecy," Giles said quietly.  
  
"Er... yeah," Cordelia replied. "I, um... that's the, uh, part about Spike."  
  
"The soulless Champion."  
  
"Cordy," Angel said quietly. "I think we've kinda passed the listening stage. Why don't we adjourn for now. I think people have... stuff to say to each other."


	25. Under The Bamboo Tree

_And for those of you playing at home, kids, that final score would be Stalagtite: five and Xander Harris' fist: zero!  
  
_Xander sunk down against the stone wall, cradling his bloodied knuckles in his lap, frantically trying to make his thoughts assemble themselves in logical order.  
  
_Anya Willow baby going to be a father going to be a father Anya holy crap Willow Anya Anya baby my baby my baby with Willow going to be a father going to be a father going to be a sack of shit just like my dad oh God Anya...  
  
_Coherence didn't seem to be arriving any time soon.  
  
Xander reached for his neck with his good hand, scrabbling for the chain that disappeared under his shirt, yanking it over his head, staring at the jewelry he held in his hand.  
  
It was a ring.  
  
An engagement ring.  
  
Quite a bit bigger than the first one he'd bought her; he'd thought she would like that.  
  
He'd known better than to propose right before yet another apocalypse; that was the sort of thing that got your nose broken by by dainty little ex-vengeance-demon fists.  
  
He'd thought he'd propose to her after.  
  
Of course... there hadn't been an after.

* * *

There were many curse words Ripper knew that Giles did not normally use.  
  
At the moment, he was utilizing all of them.  
  
Pacing back and forth, the unrolled scroll of the Shanshu Cycle lying across his bed, seeming to stare at him balefully.  
  
It wasn't the only one.  
  
In his mind's eye, he could see them. Buffy, still brunette, sixteen and wide-eyed and plump-cheeked in those ridiculously short dresses, before the burdens of the Slayer had chiseled away all her innocence, whittled her body down to a gaunt, wiry fighting machine, with green eyes that glittered in anger and confusion and loss.  
  
Willow, pale and eager, shy and small, framed in red, so easily overcome with joy, so quick to cry, emotions flitting naked over the ready canvas of her face, eyes full of curiousity, a hunger for knowledge... a hunger that would make her an addict, a murderer, would use her up and twist her from the inside, hollowing her out to fill her with darkness.  
  
Xander, ungainly and awkward and bumbling and utterly brave, unaware of the power he held within, certain in his own inferiority and rushing into the breach regardless, embracing doom again and again from sheer dumb loyalty, pure unadulterated heart... sins of omission, sins of good intent, piling up around him until the blood on his hands ran as thickly as the others.  
  
Every one of them manipulated, used, childhoods stolen, forged into weapons. They worried about apocalypses when they should have worried about prom dates, attended funerals instead of pep rallies, and now they were, almost certainly, going to die fighting this battle... but not before they were once again twisted to suit the purposes of the nameless, faceless puppetmasters on whose strings they dangled.  
  
And there was not one damned thing he could do to protect them.  
  
There never had been.  
  
All he could do was... Watch.

* * *

Buffy turned the Polaroid over and over in her fingers.  
  
He'd won his soul for her. Lost it for her.  
  
So once again... Spike was an evil, soulless thing.  
  
Who had gotten crucified to rescue Angel's son.  
  
Who had apparently spent months in L.A. saving innocent people.  
  
Who'd saved Angel's life, repeatedly.  
  
No chip. No soul. No hope that she'd ever love him or ever find out what he was doing.  
  
_Gunn?  
  
Hey, Buffy. Meeting got kinda heavy, huh? Cordy's somethin' else.  
  
Tell me about him? Please?  
  
_Gunn's words had triggered Spike's own memories in Buffy's mind, the few of them from that time that Willow had passed on; Buffy had felt his impotent rage, wandering the halls where the demon that had tortured and broken him was worshipped as a savior and rewarded... once again reduced, _so_ much worse than the chip, not only unable to hurt, unable to do _anything_...  
  
Had delighted with him at needling Angel, flirting with Fred, cracking up Lorne, anything to provoke a reaction, anything to be able to have an effect, anything to prove he still existed in the world.  
  
Had stared at the phone with him, thinking of calling Rome, thinking of how pathetic that would be, with Fred holding the receiver up to his ghostly ear and her sweet little face overcome with pity.  
  
Had shagged Harmony on a desk with him, his eyes screwed closed, begging Harmony not to talk, not to ruin the illusion, the only part of her he would look at her long blonde hair.  
  
Had walked to the docks and almost gotten on a boat. Had stared into the night, the water, remembering, imagining. And had turned around and left.  
  
Had mourned Fred, trying desperately to get drunk on tiny airplane bottles, memories mixing in Spike's mind... Fred and Dawn and Buffy herself, her broken body lying at the foot of the tower, the side of the bathtub.  
  
Remembering his guilt. His remorse. His agony. His hope, his despair, his love. God, no wonder he could make her feel, he had enough feelings for ten people, churning through him constantly, a never-ending onslaught of emotion.  
  
Her evil, soulless thing, who couldn't feel anything real.  
  
_If that's what he's like without a soul at all... what the hell is wrong with me?_

* * *

There was a little black spot on the wall, and it had Willow's full attention.  
  
Kennedy was yelling. Kennedy had been yelling for a long time. It was loud. It hurt her ears. And the fact that Willow hadn't said one word since Kennedy had started yelling seemed to be making Kennedy yell louder.  
  
Willow was thinking about many things. Yellow crayons and a time she'd gotten ice cream on her nose. Hippo dignity and little Pez witches. Extra-flamey candles and Miss Kitty Fantastico. The way Warren Mears' flayed flesh had sparkled purple and red in the moonlight. How she used to babysit and the babies wouldn't stop crying no matter what she did and how helpless she'd felt and how part of her had wanted to throw them against a wall and scream for them to shut up. How easily she could imagine Xander as a father, and the bewildering little warm Betty-Crockery feeling that gave her.  
  
She wasn't really thinking about Kennedy; she didn't _need_ to think about Kennedy, that situation had been perfectly distilled over a year ago, when she had sat on a cot in the basement.  
  
_Your new bint's got a helluva mouth on her, yeah?  
  
Ghost-pale muscles moving in the dimness, the flame of a Zippo.  
  
Don't make the face, Red. You don't have to make the face. I get it. Believe me, I get it. Harmony, right? Couldn'ta been less like Dru if I'd special-ordered her. No danger there. Knew I was safe from m'self.  
  
The clink as the lighter shut.  
  
There's a quality, yeah? Dog Boy and Glinda and even the whelp, they all got it, don't they? Your little Slayer doesn't. And you'll need it, when you're ready to be happy again.  
  
I'm...  
  
No, you're not, pet. But you will be.  
  
_Willow's mind was stretching for some way to make this _good_, to make this _work_, trying to force herself to stay in the light parts of her brain, where the ideas involved self-sacrifice and compromise and sturdy good sense.  
  
The dark side of her brain, the voice she tried so hard to ignore, spoke of easy fixes in seductive tones. For the good. Always for the good. Spoke of how very easy it would be to _fix this_, simply _fix this_, draw big thick black lines around it so it looked like a coloring book page, all simple and straightforward.  
  
_And if you like-a me like  
I like-a you  
And we like-ee both the same...  
  
_Tara had adored that movie, had adored most Steve Martin movies, actually; she could quote "The Jerk" nearly verbatim, periodically bursting out in exclamations about thermoses, special purposes, or phone books before giggling helplessly to herself.  
  
But Willow had loved "The Man With Two Brains" best, because the brain in the jar had reminded her of Tara, with her soft little voice and her aching sweetness. She could feel for Steve Martin, wanting to keep that woman in his life by any means possible.  
  
Any means possible.  
  
_I like-a say  
This very day  
I like-a change your name..._  
  
They'd watched it once naked, Willow's head pillowed in the soft swell of Tara's breasts, Tara's arms wrapped around her, blankets twined around them, and Tara had sung along... her lilting, pure voice joining with the brain's onscreen, love rushing up inside Willow until it seemed like it would make her explode.  
  
_'Cause I love-a you  
And lov-a you true  
And if you love-a me...  
_  
Steve Martin had installed the brain into his horribly bitchy wife, giving the sweet, good brain a corporeal form of her very own, and they'd all lived happily ever after.  
  
Happily ever after.  
  
Happily ever after was of the good.  
  
Willow's eyes were beginning to darken.  
  
_One live as two...  
_  
Tara was in Dawnie, and Dawnie needed her own body back.  
  
_Two live as one..._  
  
And there really wasn't any reason for Dawnie not to have her own body back, was there? Willow was very, very, very good at that spell.  
  
And Kennedy was still yelling. She was very, very loud. Shrill. Like Kathleen Turner in that movie, when they'd all lived happily ever after.  
  
Willow turned slowly to face Kennedy, her eyes shining like onyx.  
  
_Under the bamboo tree._


	26. Tacos

"Man, okay... wow... you _really_ like tacos," Tara laughed, watching as Illyria crunched down on her fifth one, a smear of taco sauce across her cheek.  
  
"Yeah," she grinned back. "These are just okay, but oh, there's this place in L.A. near the Hyperion where they're to _die_ for. And their queso dip is just... ohh. It's the only place in California I've found that makes queso dip like they do at home. Isn't that weird? Y'know, Mexican food, you'd think you take it out of Mexico and it'd all be the same, but nope. Queso dip's different everywhere. I took Spike there once, when he first got his corporeal form back. It's so funny that he _eats_, y'know? Angel never does. I meant to research that... but, y'know, stuff's always happening..."  
  
Illyria looked at Tara's pale, stricken face, her smile fading as one thin hand rose to pat her new haircut. "What? Is it the hair? Does it look stupid? You think Wesley's gonna hate it?"  
  
"No, no, it's p-pretty. You look nice as a redhead. I'm just not very used to you in this... uh... _mode_ yet."  
  
"Oh!" Illyria grinned. "Yeah, it is kinda weird, huh? Didn't think I oughta walk around the mall in the leather bodysuit and, y'know, the whole _blue_ thing. Well, unless we go into _Hot Topic.._."  
  
She crunched back into her taco.  
  
"So, um... should I call you Illyria when you're... like this? Or would you rather be called Fred?"  
  
Illyria swallowed, her tongue darting out to snag a piece of wayward lettuce from her lip. "Oh, you can just call me Fred. Kinda goes with the package. I mean, do I _look_ like a God-King right now?"  
  
Tara cast her eyes over the woman across the food court table from her, hair newly permed and dyed red, all little giggles and snorty laughter and manic movements. "You are a bit too... adorable."  
  
"You don't think it makes me look like Little Orphan Annie?"  
  
"Wha... oh! The hair! No, your hair looks good. Looks great."  
  
"How come you didn't do anything? You didn't even get a trim."  
  
"Well," Tara smiled. "My body's a loaner. Don't want to lose my deposit."  
  
Fred's taco drooped to the paper plate, her eyes meeting Tara's pleadingly. "Do you think Wesley will be able to look at me now?"  
  
Tara bit her lip. "I don't know, Fred, I..."  
  
"Tara?" Fred queried, reaching across the table. "Tara... you're kinda goin' spacey on me..."  
  
Blood dripped from Tara's lip; she bitten _through_ it, her eyes rolling up until only whites remained, her hands clawing into the tabletop.  
  
"Tara? Tara? Tara, _say something_..."  
  
Tara thrashed in the plastic chair, the music from the carousel seeming to slow and bend around them as Fred leapt to her side. "Tara, can you hear me? Are you epileptic? Was Dawn? Is this a seizure?"  
  
Fred sprung back, her eyes roaming the food court, falling on a set of chopsticks on an abandoned tray. She grabbed them, reaching for Tara. "Honey, open up, I need to give you something to bite down on, okay?"  
  
Tara lurched forward, her neck snapping back, her arms shooting out, knocking tacos and sodas and trays to the floor, napkins sailing slowly down to earth, her purse flying after...  
  
And the sound of breaking glass as something inside of it shattered on impact.

* * *

The Polaroid fluttered out of Buffy's fingers as she slumped onto the floor.

* * *

"No."  
  
Xander's voice was quiet, controlled, a corset on rage; he opened his bloodied fist, making a circling gesture... and Willow gaped as the lavender fire that had begun to surround her was pulled towards him, stretched out like spinning wool, flowing into his palm, the blackness draining from Willow's eyes.  
  
"What the fuck are _you_ doing here?" Kennedy rasped.  
  
"Saving your ass," Xander replied in that same cold, calm tone, magic crackling in a haze around him.  
  
Willow could only blink. "Xander?"  
  
"_Real_ bad idea, Will. Top Ten of all time."  
  
"Xander, I..."  
  
"Kennedy," Xander said, "Get out of here."  
  
"Who the hell do you..."  
  
Xander's eyes remained fixed on Willow's. "Kennedy. I could make you. Or you could go. Your choice."  
  
"You? _You_? You can't _make_ me do..."  
  
Xander met her eyes then, and Kennedy gasped. "This is for your own good, Kennedy. You don't want to be in this room right now."  
  
"I'm not going _anywhere_..."  
  
"Kennedy, I just sucked up an assload of _really_ black magic. I am _so _not feeling the niceness right now, especially towards you. So I really suggest you make with the gone before I remember that you called me fat."  
  
Kennedy inflated. "You want to fight? Bring it, mister."  
  
"He's busy," Faith drawled, leaning against the doorframe. "How 'bout I bring it instead?"


	27. War Rations

_My name is  
  
_ (Dawn Porter)  
  
(Buffy Anne)  
  
_Summers, and I am  
  
_ (eighteen)  
  
(twenty-three)  
  
_years old. I am the  
  
(Key)  
  
(Vampire Slayer)  
  
My mother's name was Joyce. My father's name is Hank. And this  
  
_ (hurts)  
(hurts)  
(HURTS)  
(HURTS)  
(oh God it burns)  
(It burns)  
  
Buffy rolled upright unsteadily, grabbing out for purchase on the wall, her screams fading to hysterical laughter as helpless tears streamed down her cheeks.  
  
Her mom  
  
(our mom)  
  
had read her a story as a child. This guy had put iron bands around his heart for some reason, and he'd gotten so happy because of something that his heart had swelled and they'd all snapped.  
  
Buffy  
  
(Dawn)  
  
had always wondered how that felt.  
  
And now they knew.  
  
Pain. Joy. Loss. Rage. Love.  
  
It burned.  
  
Oh, God, it burned.  
  
Memories, both real and manufactured, smashing together and fusing  
  
(so you were the one who borrowed my shirt)  
(I knew you told on me)  
(That's what happened to Mr. Gordo?)  
(You let Mom think I did that?)  
  
Events bulging outwards in lurid 3-D, two separate viewpoints combining  
  
(oh Dawnie, I never knew you were so sad)  
(Buffy if I'd only known)  
(Oh my God, you never told me)  
Thoughts rolling and tumbling and competing for dominance  
  
(Dawn why didn't you ever)  
(Buffy I couldn't have known)  
  
Each beat of her heart seeming to resonate, her body stretched taut,  
  
(I don't understand)  
(What's happening to us?)  
(Dawnie, what did you do?)  
(Buffy, what did you do?)  
  
Images colliding behind her eyes with violent force  
  
(Oh my God, that light coming through the floor)  
(Oh my God, he's by the stairs, he's burning alive)  
(That light, it's that necklace thing, that's _Spike_, but...)  
(He's dying, I can feel him dying)  
(I can feel him die)  
(He can't die, I never told him)  
(He can't die, I never told him)  
(I love you)  
(I love you)  
  
And the force of it hits her, this place where she and Dawn intersect, and it seems to shatter her from within, and God, she'd wanted to feel... but not like this, not _this_ much, this is insane, this is overwhelming and how does anyone deal with this and oh my God is _this_ what Willow felt, is _this_ how much it hurt? No _wonder_...  
  
She can't think, there are too many people in here, all of her thoughts melting into each other  
  
_I got my board in the water and the chalk all ran...  
  
_ It has to stop she has to make it stop oh God it has to stop it's too much it hurts no one can hold this much no one can feel this much oh God...  
  
She is unaware that she is keening, rocking back and forth. She is unaware that she has drawn bloody scratches down her arms, into her chest. She does not hear Gunn's shocked questions when he finds her, or feel it when he lifts her into his arms.  
  
---------------------------------------------------  
  
Tara opened her eyes, feeling the sticky grit of the food court floor beneath her, feeling thin arms around her. She was propped on someone's lap, a hand stroking her hair.  
  
Fred. Only... her eyes were that Illyria-blue, and Tara wasn't really sure which one of them it was at all.  
  
"I do not believe you are in possession of 'a loaner' any longer, Witch."  
  
"W-what?"  
  
"The Orb in your bag has shattered. The essence within has returned to its original host."  
  
Tears stung Tara's eyes. "Oh... Dawnie..."  
  
"I do not understand your grief in this situation. Nothing has truly been lost. According to your earlier narration, this was what the essence desired, and now you have your own corporeal form. It would appear that this is the type of scenario known as 'win-win'."  
  
"B-but... Dawn... she was..."  
  
"We are attracting undesired attention in this complex. Are you capable of standing?"  
  
Tara stood shakily with Illyria's help, brushing off the back of her legs.  
  
"I am curious on one point. Now that you are the only owner of the shell, do you plan to continue your current struggle?"  
  
"M-my struggle? I... don't understand."  
  
"I am aware of the effort you are exerting to remain a separate entity from your shell. I once exerted this effort. I have found it significantly less draining, if periodically disconcerting, to cease to expend the effort."  
  
"But... this is Dawn's body. I h-have to give it back."  
  
"If your discussions with us on the nature of the shell's creation were accurate, you cannot 'give it back'. The essence has rejoined itself. Even if you were to split it again, I doubt you would receive identical entities."  
  
"Dawn's... gone? Forever?"  
  
"The essence is not 'gone'. The essence has returned to where it belonged."  
  
"But... I still remember her."  
  
"No spell was done to alter reality. While I felt the presence of magic, that was not its purpose."  
  
"I think I need to sit down."  
  
"Very well. You sit. I will continue to eat these tacos. They are pleasing to me."  
  
---------------------------------------------------  
  
"All right," Spike said, his eyebrow quirking slightly at the echo of his own voice in the hall. "I bloody well hate givin' speeches. So listen up."  
  
"Some of you know me. Some of you've heard of me. Cautionary tale for vampires, right? William the Bloody got chipped. William the Bloody got a soul. William the Bloody's the Slayer's lapdog. I hear the stories."  
  
"But I'm standin' here because I'm _alive_. Because I _survived_. Right now, I'm the oldest Aurelian vampire... probably somethin' you'd all like to be someday. You can't do that unless you're willin' to change. Adapt. Do things you don't like, that go contrary to your nature."  
  
"Big battle goin' on right now, underneath our noses. Good vs. Evil. Classic thing."  
  
"Now, we're vampires, so normally, pickin' a side's not that difficult. Go Big Evil, right? But here's the thing, mates. I _know_ this Big Evil, and I know what it wants. Annihilation of the whole buggerin' planet. And guess what? All of you are o_n_ that planet. It goes down, you go with it. We're top of the food pyramid, kiddies... and that means that if the pyramid collapses, we fall on our collective asses. Big dusty deaths all around. No more me, and what I think you might find a bit more motivational, no more _you_."  
  
"Bein' a vampire's great, innit? Want. Take. Have. Thing is, if Evil wins, there's not gonna _be_ bugger-all to want, take, _or_ have. Quick painful death... if you're lucky. Slow, excruciating starvation, if you're not."  
  
"But if Good wins... status quo stays in place, you follow? Lots of lovely deluded people to eat... runnin' around makin' more people for you to eat later. Things to smash, things to steal. Everything you bloody like about your lives, you take from the humans. They're our food, our lives, the source of everythin'. If we want to live, we've got to protect the source of life."  
  
"I'm proposin' a _temporary_ alliance with the forces of Good. Save 'em now, eat 'em later. Make 'em think we're on their sides, get what we want, then kill 'em. And if that ain't evil, I don't know what is."  
  
"Thing is... we wanna do this, we've got to get 'em to trust us. Temporarily. And if there's a vamp knows somethin' about getting humans to trust you despite all the shit you've pulled, it's me."  
  
"Why don't humans trust us? Main thing. We kill 'em. Can't blame 'em, yeah?"  
  
"So we quit." Spike waited as cries of indignation echoed around the cavern. "How many times I gotta use the word 'temporarily'? You were all human once. You know what it is to go on a diet. You give up somethin' tasty, you get somethin' even better in return, am I right? You lot seriously tellin' me that you're such _gluttons_ you can't bag it for a few months to save your own _lives_?"  
  
He stood his ground, waiting for the grumbling to pass. "Right. So first order of business, we get on the good side of the people who are gonna keep this world in existance. An' we gotta do that _fast_. Not enough to quit eatin' em. We've gotta _help_ 'em."  
  
Loud cries of disbelief, and at least one audible _You've gotta be shittin' me!  
  
_"Humans _wanna_ like us, mate. The poor sods really do. Look at the bloody films! Prettyboy Brad Pitt and that poof Tom Cruise glidin' around in eveningwear? Keifer Bloody Sutherland? Gary Oldman? For cryin' out loud, Winona Bleedin' Ryder? We laugh, but we can _use_ it. Humans think we're all dark n' mysterious n' sexy. In my case, they're right. They wanna think we're misunderstood n' pretty n' secretly good. Let's let 'em think it."  
  
"Most of you are pretty old. Gettin' a bit _bored_, aren't you? Wake up, bite people, lather rinse repeat. I'm offerin' you somethin' _new_. Somethin' _different_. A _game_. A damned _fun_ game, for the biggest prize of all -- not bein' dead."  
  
"So we lay off the humans for a while. Think of it as bein' on war rations. We're still fightin' and scrappin' and bein' ourselves, only now we're gonna concentrate on fightin' the _real_ enemy. The people tryin' to destroy this world we like so much. Evil demons, hell-creatures, other bloodlines o' vamps... whatever the Big Bad's got workin' for it. And here's the thing, mates -- when we're done savin' the world? Not only have we left all the little Happy Meals runnin' around pumpin' their sweet, sweet plasma... we've taken out the competition."  
  
"I think I've laid it out pretty plain, but let me sum up. If you're with me, we get a fuckin' glorious bloody fight and we save our world. If you're against me, you just committed slow suicide."  
  
Spike stopped his pacing, crossing his arms. "So. Who's with me?" 


	28. Fluffy Puppies

"What the _hell_?" Kennedy cried, prying Faith's hand from her collar and flinging it aside. "This is none of your _business_, Faith. I have every right to be in that room!"  
  
"Sure you do," Faith shrugged. "And if your little girlfriend wasn't 'bout to hollow you out and do a magical scrub-down on your brain pan to prepare the way for the comin' of the ex, I'd let you stay in there and get your yell on all you want. Thing is, Princess, you can yell n' yell and it ain't never gonna help. You're a Slayer. We hit stuff. Hit me."  
  
"Oh, what, you think you're the perception queen? Get that from a big _group hug_ in _prison_?"  
  
"Honey, what they do in groups ain't a damn bit like huggin'. But yeah, maybe I am the perception queen. Ain't hard to read your face when I've seen it in the mirror. Hit me."  
  
"You don't know me."  
  
"Nah, not really. Know that look, though. Worn it. Know what you're feelin'. Hit me."  
  
"You don't know _anything_."  
  
"Oh, yeah? Think I don't know what it's like to look at someone you love so much it fuckin' hurts and know they're wishin' you were somebody else? Think I don't know what it's like to walk around puffin' yourself up, talkin' a big game, 'cause you don't want nobody to see how bad you feel? You may have gone the snotty Little Princess route, but it's the same walk down it. Hit me."  
  
"Why? Why do you want me to hit you?"  
  
"'Cause you're either gonna hit me or start cryin', and I'm not gonna know what the hell to do for you if you start cryin'."  
  
Kennedy's fist flew towards Faith's face, and Faith caught it in her palm, shoving it aside and nodding in approval.  
  
"Good choice. Let's do this."

* * *

"Now," Xander said, magic crackling in the air around him, "Given that cool, thousand-yard-stare thing you've got goin' on, I'm guessing you don't have any cute Kindergarden anecdotes to help me with this. So I guess I'm just gonna have to try and not kill anything... or maybe think about fluffy puppies. Does that help? Fluffy puppies? Or if I think about fluffy puppies right now, do they burst into flame?"  
  
Willow continued to blink slowly at the doorframe Faith had hauled Kennedy through.  
  
"C'mon, Will. You just gave me a big fat evil injection, the least you can do is chuckle. I'd even settle for an evil chuckle. Malicious snort? No?"  
  
Xander heaved a sigh. "Look. I know what you were trying to do. I could feel it. I know you're in pain, but Will? Not to get all Uncle Ben on you, but great power, great responsibility, right? See these knuckles? Punched a wall. Made me feel better, wall didn't complain. Look into it."  
  
"Xander?" Willow whispered. "Kill me."  
  
"Um, yeah, that's actually not on today's agenda. Let's back up and replace some words. How about 'Xander, take me out for pizza'. Something less with the dead."  
  
"Xander! It's _never_ going to get better! Don't you see? I thought I was... when I did that spell on the scythe, I thought I'd... I thought I'd been forgiven, I thought I'd been... redeemed. And here we are, right back where we were and... it's _inside me_, Xander. The evil. I'm never going to be able to get it out."  
  
"Evil inside you, huh? So you're damned forever to make with the bad, right?"  
  
"I don't wanna be this way..."  
  
"What? Like, I can't even believe this name is leaving my mouth, Spike? He's a bastard and an asshole and God, I'd love to stake him, but he died for us. Apparently it didn't take, but there you go. It's a choice, Will. A choice that you and everybody makes every day. There isn't a finish line."  
  
"Xander? Will you answer me one question?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Why do you hate them so much? Angel and Spike? I know, I know, you had the crush on Buffy and Spike annoys you, but..."  
  
Xander smiled sadly. "You really gotta ask me that? I thought it was obvious."  
  
"I... yeah. I wanna know."  
  
"I killed _Jesse_, Willow. Dusted him. And everybody told me it was okay. He wasn't Jesse, he was the demon that killed him. He'd never get any better, he'd never be Jesse again. And I took that and I grabbed onto that. So how in the hell do you think it makes me feel when I see Spike... crying over Buffy and babysitting Dawn and saving the freaking world? How do you think it makes me feel when everyone changes their minds... for _him_? That could have been _Jesse_. Fighting for us. One of us."  
  
Xander sat down on the bed, sighing. "The better Spike is, the more part of me hates him, y'know? Part of me _wants _him to be evil, wants him to once and for all prove that he... when he tried, y'know. When he tried to rape Buffy. I was sad for Buffy, I was, but part of me... God, part of me was so _relieved_. And then he goes out and gets a soul? Jesse could have done that! If we'd only known... hell, I'd have gone to Africa and gotten it for him."  
  
"Xander..." Willow sighed, reaching for his hand.  
  
"And there you go, Will. There it is. You've got evil inside you? I don't _care_. I lost Jesse because of this whole oh-you're-evil-and-that's-just-that thing. And I... am... _not_... losing you too. You're gonna fight this, 'cause I'm gonna _make_ you, and I'm gonna keep you good if I have to sew myself to you and be your big ol' evil sponge."  
  
Xander laced his fingers with hers, bringing her hand to his lips. "And now we're having the... Golden Child or something. We've been promoted, huh? The prophecies are about _us_ now. We're not Buffy's groupies or her backup band. We've got our own thing. I've spent a long, long time feeling like I didn't have a place, and Will... I _know_ that's why you got into this. We wanted to be special, too. Well... we are."  
  
He settled his hand gently on her stomach. "Let's do a good job at it, okay?"  
  
"Xander, it's just... it's just so _hard_..."  
  
"It always _is_. When's the last time we went through the Apocalypse of General Merriment?" Xander brushed a piece of Willow's hair away from her face. "You feelin' less with the evil now?"  
  
"Xander... what I... what I tried to do..."  
  
"Was really stupid. There's not going to be any easy way out of this, Willow. For any of us. And speaking of things that aren't easy... I think you need to come clean with Kennedy. I can't say she's my _favorite_ person, and she _clearly_ has skewed body image issues she projects on other people, but she doesn't deserve the kind of heartbreak she's gonna get when Oz and Tara show up. I don't know what choice you're going to make, but I'm pretty positive Kennedy isn't it. She deserves better."  
  
"Xander... how do I know I even get to _make_ that choice? I _flayed_ a guy! Skin go bye-bye! I tried to end the world! Tara left me because of magic, a-and I got even worse! She's not gonna want me. _Oz_ isn't gonna want me. He went to Tibet, gave up everything he cared about, to learn to control his beast, and I-I let mine out to scamper willy-nilly! How could he respect that? They're... they're not going to want me at all."  
  
Xander squeezed her hand. "Maybe. Maybe you're right, Will. I can't say. But the thing is... you're gonna want _them_. One, both, some wacky sick combo, I dunno. And that's gonna hurt her. Believe me -- that's a pain I know. Don't make her be your safety net. It's one of those hard choices that keep you on the road to Goodville."  
  
"Xander, I... maybe I'm too far gone to ever get to Goodville. I mean, you talk about the road, and all I'm seeing are exit signs, y'know? Moment of Weakness Junction. Ultimate Evil, five miles. Now leaving Sanity. And I'm on the road and I'm on the road and I get distracted for one second and bam, I'm filling up on destruction at the gas station of Apocalypse and the restrooms are _really_ yucky."  
  
"So we'll make it kind of a road trip thing. Maybe get a Winnebago so you don't have to use the scary restrooms. And you can fight your inner veiny Willow, and I'll fight my inner evil, code-named Dad, and we'll go see the big ball of twine and eat those Vienna Sausage things. It'll be a party."  
  
"God, Xander, our kid isn't going to make _any_ sense _ever_, is it?"  
  
Xander kissed her forehead, grinning. "Probably not."


	29. Cannon Fodder

Giles eyed the silent figure, his brow furrowed. "Do you have any idea what happened to her?"  
  
"I dunno," Gunn sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "We had a little talk, I walked off, heard her screamin' and laughin'. Ran back fast as I could, just in time to see her punch herself in the face and go all... catatonic."  
  
Giles considered this for a moment, then approached the bed. "Buffy? It's Giles. Can you hear me? Buffy?"  
  
"Vindaloo..." Buffy sang softly, giggling to herself. "Vindaloo..."  
  
"Guess she's hungry?" Gunn shrugged.  
  
"We're gonna score... one... more... than... yoooou..."  
  
"She's not... _actually _singing about _food_," Giles murmured, taking a step closer. "It's a... fight song. I suppose Dawn taught it to her..."  
  
"Can I introduce you please? To a lump of cheddar cheese?" Buffy giggled, smashing her face into her pillow.  
  
"Damn stupid fight song," Gunn chuckled.  
  
"Yes, well, you should hear it performed... or perhaps the term is 'brutally massacred'... by Spike." Giles sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a lock of hair away from Buffy's face. "Buffy... er... did you, perhaps, hit your head on something?"  
  
"Don't you remember?" Buffy laughed maniacally, her head twisting from side to side. "You taught it to me when I was dead."  
  
Giles' hand froze in midair. "What... _what_ did you say?"  
  
"We're Eng-land!" Buffy bellowed before collapsing in another fit of hysterical giggles.  
  
"Good lord," Giles whispered.  
  
"Aww, damn," Gunn said, "You're cleanin' your glasses. Haven't been around you that long and I already know that's bad."  
  
"Dawn?" Giles said hesitantly.  
  
"Yeah?" Buffy replied... then began to convulse.

* * *

"Is it wrong that I don't know whether to be repulsed or motivated?" Oz asked, surveying the vampiric crowd with his hands in his pockets.  
  
"You know, you are remarkably unflappable," Anya replied, looking at him curiously. "I think I really like that about you. Either that, or it annoys me. I'll get back to you."  
  
"Grew up on the Hellmouth, turn into a killing machine once a month," Oz shrugged. "It gives you perspective."  
  
"Yes, well, I was a vengeance demon for a thousand years. I've caused unthinkable amounts of carnage. And yet, I'm flappable. I'm flappin' all over the place, in fact."  
  
"Well -- you died. That gives you perspective, too."  
  
"Yeah... that _sucked_. And it looks like I'm gonna have to do it all over again." Anya curled her arms around herself, hopping a little from the cold.  
  
Oz raised an eyebrow. "You think we're all gonna die?"  
  
"Well, yeah! I'm not exactly laboring under any delusions here, dog boy. I don't think the Powers brought me back for my fine head for business and stunning good looks. Wake up and smell the cannon fodder -- we're it!"  
  
"That's what they told you -- you were cannon fodder?"  
  
"They didn't tell me squat! The last thing I remember was big ugly Bringers and Andrew squealing like a little bitch, and then poof -- I was in your van, which really stinks by the way. It's called Febreze -- look into it."  
  
"That's theologically intriguing," Oz murmured.  
  
"No, I'd say it was a combination of mildew, socks and old McDonald's wrappers."  
  
"I sorta meant the lack of go-somewhereness."  
  
"Oh. Well, I asked Spike. He said he didn't go anywhere either. Did the super melt and popped up nineteen days later in the office of Buffy's broody undead ex."  
  
"And they didn't tell you anything? No instructions, no manual? I would have expected more freakage."  
  
"Well, for a minute there I thought I'd gone to some special Heaven for Scooby Exes, but it smelled too bad and the Led Zeppelin indicated otherwise. What'd they tell you?"  
  
"Well, I didn't know it was_ they_. Devon came to me. Only I knew it wasn't really Devon, because of the multisyllabic words. Said Willow needed me."  
  
"You do know she's a lesbian now? No orgasms there for you, buddy."  
  
"I'm aware. Doesn't matter. Still love her. If she needs cannon fodder... I'm there."  
  
Anya snorted loudly, and Oz shot her a curious glance. "What?"  
  
"You... _guys_. What is with all of you and the celibate woman-worship? I'm starting to think that if I hadn't slept with Xander, he'd have followed me around trying to die for me."  
  
Oz shrugged. "Worked for Buffy and Willow."  
  
"So what, I put out so I get left at the altar? That's not very progressive. We sleep with you people, and you lose your souls and go on killing sprees and move to Tibet and go all hog-wild in the bathroom."  
  
"I think you're oversimplifying."  
  
"Well, I just thought if I was going to get reincarnated, it would be as something cooler. I _did_ give my life for the sake of good, you know. But I'm back and I'm me and I have lame-o van-driving missions."  
  
"Well, you're a demon again, right?"  
  
"I haven't run myself through with a sword to test that theory, but yeah."  
  
"And that pimp guy D'Hoffryn hasn't shown up, has he?"  
  
"He was not a -- huh. That's not a bad analogy." Anya bit her lip, considering. "I think I feel demeaned."  
  
"But he hasn't shown up to give you homework or anything."  
  
Anya looked around nervously. "You realized you just totally jinxed me."  
  
"Sounds like you're Demon, Unleashed."  
  
"Well, maybe. If I knew what my powers were, or how to access them. Wish for something."  
  
"I've been told that's dangerous."  
  
"Wish for something stupid. Wish for _gum_."  
  
"And this isn't going to cause some cinnamony apocalypse because a stick of Big Red disappeared from Siberia in the middle of a tense confrontation?"  
  
"You know, I'm coming down on the side of _annoying_ here."  
  
Oz extended his hand, palm up. "I wish I had a pack of Juicy Fruit gum in this palm that caused no negative consequences by its appearance."  
  
Anya made a face. Nothing happened.  
  
"Maybe you need the necklace?" Oz suggested gently.  
  
"That _necklace_ was given to me by the pimp. Demon, Unleashed my ass. More like Demon, Useless and Unemployed."  
  
"Well, aren't you still really strong and freakishly hard to kill?"  
  
"Probably," Anya pouted.  
  
"Then you'll make great cannon fodder."  
  
Anya's oncoming glare snapped to the side as the noise of the vampiric crowd rose to a roar.  
  
"What's going on now?"  
  
Oz leaned against the wall, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips. "Looks like Spike just got his army."

* * *

"You okay?" Cordelia asked, pulling the sheet up to cover them both. "Is this about the whole revamping thing? Or have you just brooded so much your face is stuck that way?"  
  
"I just... I don't understand what the _point_ was. It's like they're _teasing_ me. You're human! You're not! You're human! You're not! I mean, what, do they just want to keep reminding me what the carrot tastes like so I'll keep running after it?"  
  
"I don't think this Shanshu is gonna be gallons of fun for anyone."  
  
"Can I just say how much I _hate_ prophecies? Now I've gotta have a Sire binding to _Spike_ of all people? I can see the smirk now. I'm haunted by the smirk."  
  
"Well... you _could_ let someone else get vamped," Cordelia said pleasantly. "Give up the whole Champion gig and sit in the wings while someone else stars in The Apocalypse Show."  
  
At Angel's low growl, Cordelia continued innocently. "Not that you couldn't be useful. I'm sure there's something you could look up in books."  
  
"Appealing to my inner Drama Queen?"  
  
"Never failed me before..."  
  
"I just don't understand. If it's a _prophecy_, we shouldn't have to _work_ to fulfill it, right? It should just _happen_. So why the hell am I human now?"  
  
Cordelia bit her lip and grinned, and Angel's eyes narrowed. "You know something. What do you know?"  
  
"Well... when I gave my little Shanshu presentation, I may have altered a few details."  
  
"Cordy," Angel groaned. "We need... what did you alter?"  
  
"You know the whole... 'mystic child' thing?"  
  
Angel sighed, putting his arm behind his head. "Yeah..."  
  
"Well... that word? Child? Was actually... _plural_."  
  
"Oh. Well, that's not... so..."  
  
Angel's eyes bulged, and Cordelia began to laugh.

* * *

"Hey, Andrew..." Wood said, leaning against the doorframe. "You haven't seen Faith by any chance, have you?"  
  
"The mysterious Dark Slayer has actually..."  
  
"Y'know, Andy... I think she'd punch you a lot less if you'd quit calling her that."  
  
"Faith and Xander went to go get Willow," Andrew finished with a slight pout, then warmed up to the topic. "Xander, newly attuned to his heretofore hidden Warlock powers..."  
  
"Uh-huh." Wood stepped into the room. "What are you working on?"  
  
"Mr. Giles gave me the Shanshu cycle to study. While my knowledge of demonic lore does not approach that of the muscular and dashing Gunn..."  
  
Wood rolled his eyes, examining the scroll over Andrew's shoulder. "Find out anything good?"  
  
"That would depend on your definition of good."  
  
"Why don't you tell me _your_ definition?"  
  
"Well, I've come to accept the rather narrow definition of 'things that don't make Buffy bruise me'... and this doesn't qualify."  
  
Wood frowned. "Is this about Spike?"  
  
"Negative, my good man. This is in regards to _what_ we're battling, specifically the head honcho of the united forces of evil. But nice guess with the ex-boyfriend. You're warm approaching broiling."  
  
"Something to do with Angel?"  
  
Andrew chuckled condescendingly. "Oh, Wood, _dear_ Wood. So predictable in your biases vis-a-vis our undead champions. But I fear even I failed to appreciate this threat. We were all led astray by his charm, his connections, his encyclopedic knowledge of Farscape. Oh, they _tried_ to warn me, those wise, beautiful vampyres. But did I listen? Oh no. Such are the perils of hubris."  
  
Wood closed his eyes, took a calming breath. "Andrew... are you planning to make sense at any point in the near future?"  
  
"Judging by these sacred texts... our nemesis is none other than..." Andrew took a deep breath... "The Immortal!"  
  
Wood chuckled. "The Immortal."  
  
"Indeed!"  
  
"Buffy's little Italian boytoy."  
  
"Underestimate him at your peril, Wood! It's like Clark Kent... if Superman were, y'know, evil, and wanted to end the world." Andrew perked up. "It's like Clark Kent when Superman got exposed to the tar... when Richard Pryor read the cigarette label and changed the Kryptonite! _Evil_ Clark Kent. With no glasses."  
  
"So we're... in an apocalyptic battle... against _Superman III_."  
  
"I see my metaphor has failed to..."  
  
Wood yawned. "I'm gonna go take a nap, Andrew. Wake me up when you figure out how Penguin, Darth Vader and Khan fit into this, okay?"


	30. Triplicate

_Please, Wesley... why can't I stay?  
  
Why can't I stay?  
  
_Wesley jerked upright in the hotel bed, sheets tangled around him, and put his head in his hands... trying to calm his frantic gasps to a volume that wouldn't wake up his companions.  
  
"I'm m-making tea," a voice said quietly. "Do you want some?"  
  
He turned bleary eyes on Tara, still unused to seeing those wise, quiet eyes peeking out of a face he remembered best at twelve, shrieking through Buffy's house in a flurry of long brown hair and preteen energy.  
  
_Those memories aren't real. Dawn was never there, never hero-worshipped Faith just to irritate Buffy, never interrupted Scooby meetings, never called you Watcher Prissy-Pants. It didn't happen, no more than Connor...  
  
_Wesley let out another soft groan then; _more_ guilt, excellent.  
  
"You had another nightmare about Fred," Tara said, a statement not a question.  
  
"They are... somewhat incessant." He reached for his glasses on the bedside table.  
  
"Well... there's tea. Kind of, um, coffee-flavored...? I tried to clean the machine, but... y'know. But hey, more caffiene, less sleep, less nightmares...?"  
  
"In that case, tea sounds excellent."  
  
He watched her pad barefoot back into the bathroom... the shy, mothering white witch whose death had inspired a psychotic killing spree.  
  
Wesley had always felt a bizarre kinship with Willow Rosenburg, a similarity he'd been unable to pinpoint back in their days of near-constant contact; an annoyance, a word on the tip of his tongue.  
  
The parallels had snapped into place slowly afterwards; The Dark Dweeb, magically-inclined right hand of the Champion.  
  
If he'd had the power to flay Knox with a wave of his hand, would he have done it?  
  
Oh, yes. Yes, he would have.  
  
Only... he would have done it much slower.  
  
His gaze shifted then, across the beige-carpeted valley between the double beds, where the God-King Illyria slept peacefully beneath a pastel painting of a golf course.  
  
She slept on whim, seemingly compelled from boredom rather than exhaustion, like sleep was a sort of screen-saver.  
  
He wondered if she dreamt, and of what.  
  
Soft footsteps; Tara had returned, handing him a hotel mug before settling herself cross-legged at the foot of his bed and blowing softly across the surface of her own.  
  
"You like her," Tara whispered, looking at Illyria.  
  
"Fred? 'Like' hardly encompasses it..."  
  
"I meant Illyria. You like her, too. And not just because she looks like Fred."  
  
Wesley paused. "I hated her. She killed Fred. I tried to kill her. I... failed."  
  
"But you don't feel that way anymore."  
  
"I..." Wesley sipped his tea. "I have no idea. It is... complex. Illyria is... she is certainly very interesting."  
  
"She cares about you."  
  
"I'm not sure if that is accurate. Humans are so beneath her. She is, after all, a god."  
  
"Would you get rid of her? If you could?"  
  
"To bring Fred back? Oh God, yes. But... I have a certain... affection for Illyria. I suppose if I were wishing, I should like to have them both around."  
  
"But you can't," Tara whispered, her hands wrapping around her mug.  
  
Wesley's eyes darkened. "Tara, there was nothing further you could have done. What you had already done was remarkable. You saved Spike, and you did the best you could for Dawn..."  
  
"She's stuck out there, Wesley. It's horrible. I... I know."  
  
One eyebrow lifted. "Tara..._ how_ do you know?"  
  
"I like the way you say my name. Tah-rah, all soft. Reminds me of Giles..."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
Tara sighed. "When I died... W-Willow was so angry. She... she couldn't bring me back, but her _anger_, the... the force of her will... it w-wouldn't let me go. I got... trapped here. I watched Willow go insane, I watched Dawn cry for hours over my body... and once I figured out how to move myself, I watched Willow flay Warren, hurt everyone, nearly end the world... and there was nothing I could do to stop it, nothing."  
  
"Oh, Tara..." Wesley said in horror.  
  
"I hoped she'd figure it out, set me free. Especially when the First came back as everyone _but_ me... I t-tried to talk to them, tried to do _anything_... but all I could do was watch."  
  
Tara fisted her sweater in both hands, staring at her knees. "When they left the country? After Sunnydale was destroyed? They left me behind. I couldn't travel fast enough to follow them... and then I didn't know where they were. Sunnydale was gone. The only place I knew I could eventually get to... where I might hear something... was where Angel was."  
  
Wesley blinked in surprise. "You were at Wolfram & Hart."  
  
"When I saw Spike was a ghost, I was so hopeful." Tears shone in Tara's eyes. "I mean, he and I weren't ever really_ close_, but the thought... the thought of having someone to talk to, someone who could _see_ me..."  
  
"But he _couldn't_ see you, could he?" Wesley said gently.  
  
Tara shook her head. "Even _Pavayne_ couldn't. Which was good, I guess...? I mean, getting fed to Hell, not so great... but sort of the final straw? I wasn't... I wasn't even a ghost. I was... less than a ghost."  
  
"And now you're afraid you didn't do everything in your power to help Dawn."  
  
"I was so... so miserable, Wesley. And now I'm really alive again. At Dawn's expense. How can I live with that? I m-mean, I t-tried to do the right thing, to protect her, b-but I... I failed. I _failed_. And I can't stop thinking about everything I could have done differently... what the heck was I doing, carrying the Orb in my _purse_? I should have had it somewhere safer, I should have..."  
  
Wesley shut his eyes, breathing deeply. "Tara, if you're going to quote my autobiography, I do hope I get royalties."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"'I Failed', by Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. And I just keep adding chapters. One might have thought my death would be the epilogue... and oh, did I mention that I was the _only_ one on the team not to complete my objective? Illyria had to kill my target for me." Wesley sighed, running his thumb over the rim of his mug. "I'm thinking of having my father write the preface, only I suspect his litany of my shortcomings would stretch it into several volumes."  
  
"Illyria hates your father."  
  
Wesley did a double-take. "What?"  
  
"She mentioned him... earlier, at the mall? I was talking about my dad. She said your father was an emasculating, pompous insect who should crawl before you, um, said something about ripping out his spine? She also said he was a 'wanker'... I guess Spike is kind of rubbing off on her."  
  
"Illyria... called my father... a _wanker_?"  
  
Tara nodded.  
  
"I take back my earlier 'suppose'," Wesley said, something dangerously close to real laughter coloring his voice. "I would definitely like to keep them both."

* * *

"All right," Angel growled, channeling what seemed to be a world-class freak-out into championship pacing. "I'm sick of this diaspora _crap_. I want Connor _here_. I want Wes and Illyria _here_. And God help me, I even want Spike _here_. Are you done with that locator spell yet, Xander?"  
  
"Oh, I'm _done_," Xander said. "This is me gaping in confusion."  
  
Gunn leaned over Xander's shoulder. "So, what's the purple dot?"  
  
"Well, technically there shouldn't _be_ a purple dot. There should be one red Buffy-dot and one blue Dawn-dot. Instead, we have confusing purple crapness."  
  
"As I feared," Giles sighed, removing his glasses.  
  
Xander whipped around to face him. "Why's everything gotta be 'as I feared' or 'as I suspected'? Once, just once, can you jump in the air squealing 'Holy moley, I had no idea!' and then maybe run around screaming like a girl?"  
  
"I don't like to infringe on your territory," Giles glared.  
  
Angel ignored them. "So, 'as you feared'... what did you fear?"  
  
"Buffy has been... integrated," Giles sighed. "Whatever part of her the monks removed to make Dawn... it's been put back."  
  
Gunn raised an eyebrow. "_That's_ why she was singin' 'bout Indian food?"  
  
"I would imagine the process is rather traumatic. Possibly not as dramatic as that undergone by Angel and Spike, as Buffy only had half a soul return, but..."  
  
"Y'know, I thought I knew what a soul was," Gunn protested. "Never involved any damn _fractions_."  
  
"I don't think any of us can properly say what a soul is, Charles. Look at the different effects getting one had on Angel and Spike. Angel is completely different; Spike is so similar that he lost his and no one even noticed. Dawn's soul seems to have arrived with Dawn's _memories_... I can only surmise, Angel, that your soul did not do the same because none were formed... wherever it was."  
  
"Let's save the theology discussion for another day, shall we?" Xander interrupted. "Just tell me what spell I gotta do to put Dawn back in Dawn's body."  
  
"Xander, if we'd known the exact details of how the monks made Dawn..."  
  
"So we'll figure it out, right? Those guys gotta have records somewhere!"  
  
"And where would that be, Xander?" Giles challenged. "The scenic _crater_ that is Sunnydale?"  
  
"What exactly do you want me to do here?" Xander snapped. "Leave Buffy cookoo for cocoa puffs and singing about cheese when we're frozen in the headlights of an oncoming apocalypse?"  
  
Giles hung his head. "Xander, Dawn is _part_ of Buffy and moreover, always was. Perhaps we shouldn't try to remove her again."  
  
"Am I the _only one_ bothered that Dawn is _dead_?"  
  
"She isn't technically _dead_, Xander. She never _really_ existed. She was always a part of Buffy... and I suspect she will be again, once the initial shock is over. I think our efforts might be better spent in helping Buffy adjust rather than trying to split her soul in half again."  
  
Xander closed his eyes for a few moments, then opened them. "_Reveale_."  
  
A sheet of parchment flamed to life on the table in front of them, and Giles' eyes narrowed. "Xander... are you... communicating with Willow in some way we're unaware?"  
  
"Yeah... that creepy way she used to talk in our heads? Goes both ways now. Pretty cool, huh? Don't even need to touch her to drain her anymore, which helps with the freako lust." Xander picked up the parchment, squinting at it. "Crap, what is this -- some kind of demon language?"  
  
Gunn stuck out his hand. "Pass it over."  
  
"Xander," Giles said carefully, "You haven't... you haven't had much training, and you saw firsthand what magic did to..."  
  
"Don't worry, Giles," Xander laughed. "I'm not gonna be putting dancing guys in cages or gettin' freaky with the black magic crack."  
  
Giles coughed. "Xander... I certainly don't mean to insult you, but you are somewhat... _impetuous_... particularly when, ah, emotions are involved..."  
  
"Hey! I'm not..."  
  
"No, you're just the guy who tried to decapitate Spike for sleeping with your ex-girlfriend," Gunn chuckled, eyes still on the parchment.  
  
"Really?" Angel grinned. "Why didn't anyone tell _me_ this funny, funny story?"  
  
"It was part of my and Spike's Wes/Fred discussion," Gunn traced his finger down the page. "There was tequila involved."  
  
"Hey!" Xander protested, "Riley staked Spike with that plastic stake just for..."  
  
"Again, these are _very_ pleasant stories that nobody's bothered to share..."  
  
"It's K'Hortian," Gunn said, lifting the scroll to indicate it. "Species of demons with a real take-charge attitude towards reincarnation and a hell of a recycling program."  
  
"I've heard of them." Excitement seeped into Giles' voice. "When one dies, they transfer its essence into another body..."  
  
"An unborn K'Hortian, if one's available," Gunn continued. "But if not... they double up. Hence this handy-dandy little integration spell. Can't believe I didn't think of it myself, after those K'Hortian negotiations in February..."  
  
Angel stared at the parchment in Gunn's hands, then at Xander. "You can summon up _any_ spell you need? That's a hell of a talent you're just sharing now..."  
  
"Willow says it has limits. She just hasn't figured out what they are yet. She thinks it might be sorta like those template books of Wesley's you guys mentioned... calling up knowledge? Gunn knew about the K'Hortians, he just didn't remember... Amy knew the de-ratting spell, she was just too ratty to cast it."  
  
"Do you think this will work on Buffy?"  
  
Gunn studied the parchment. "Worth a shot. Better than leaving her raving about N'Sync."  
  
"Having suffered hours of exposure? I'm inclined to agree," Giles sighed.

* * *

"Here ya go," Cordelia said, handing Willow a re-wetted cloth.  
  
Willow did not meet her eyes, Resolve Face in full effect as she tried to still Buffy's thrashing head long enough to apply the compress. "Thanks."  
  
Cordelia regarded the figure on the bed. "Wonder what's going on in there?"  
  
"Dunno. Doesn't look like fun, though..."

* * *

_The stake slides into Katrina Silber's chest, her eyes popping open... and they're blue, Spike-blue, staring blankly at the sky.  
  
And Warren Mears goes flying across a bordello-red bedroom, propelled by the weight of Katrina in a French Maid's outfit, kissing him frantically.  
  
"Tell me you love me," Warren demands.  
  
"I love you, Master."  
  
"I love you too, baby," Warren purrs. "Get on your knees."  
  
The crypt door flies open with a bang; Buffy does not do knocking.  
  
"Tell me you love me."  
  
Spike's face lights up. "I love you. You know I do."  
  
"Tell me you want me."  
  
"I always want you," Spike whispers, then gives her the naughty eyebrow. "In point of fact..."  
  
Buffy's lips twitch in disgust. "Shut up."  
  
Katrina rolls bonelessly down the hill, Buffy gasping in horror as her corpse bumps against rocks, gathers fallen leaves...  
  
KilledahumanFaithohgodI'mFaithI'mjustlikeFaith...  
  
And Spike's head slams into the concrete of the alley, the fine angles of his face swollen and blurred, bruises blooming over the pale finery of his skin, frantic fists sinking deeper into muscle, hearing bones crack, something wild and dark and angry blooming in the empty place inside...  
  
And the light goes rainbow, stained-glass turning sunlight to crimson and green and gold, painting dark wood pews and red velvet as Faith, inside Buffy's body, punches her own in the face.  
  
"You're nothing! Disgusting! Murderous bitch! You're nothing! You're disgusting!"  
  
Spike tries to roll over, tries to catch an ankle, one last attempt to keep her from martyring herself, one last night to try and save her from her wish for annihilation...  
  
Too much is broken; his ribs, his arm, his heart. He collapses back onto his back, stares up at the brightening sky, lets out as much of a groan as the punctured lung will let him.  
  
This is the way the world ends, Spike thinks. Not with a bang, but with a whimper...  
  
And then he hears the sound of size eight pink sneakers, pounding beneath the flapping legs of pyjamas; Dawn is screaming Buffy's name... and then his.  
  
"Spike! What happened to you?"  
  
Dawn's hands flutter over Spike's ruined face, wanting to soothe but not finding a safe spot to touch; she settles for wiping the worst of the blood from his mouth with her sleeve.  
  
"What the bleedin' hell you doin' out here, Nibblet? All manner of beasties could have gotten a bite of you..." Spike tries to rise and falls back onto the concrete, Dawn's hand sliding beneath his head a second before it cracks against the pavement.  
  
"Like the ones that got a bite of you? Geez, Spike, what the..."  
  
"Go home, pidge. S'not safe..." Spike peers into Dawn's face. "You been cryin'? Who's made you cry? Bloody well kill 'em..." He coughs up more blood. "In just a minute..."  
  
"Spike, you don't know, I have to stop Buffy, I..."  
  
Dawn's face freezes in horror. Suddenly, she knows.  
  
"You tried to stop Buffy," she whispers.  
  
"Don't know what you're on about, Bit... ran into a bunch of muggers... human, y'know, chip... run on home, I just need a mo'..."  
  
"You don't have a mo, you stubborn... stupid... do you know what time it is?"  
  
Dawn tries to haul Spike to his feet, dropping him with a squeal when she realizes she's grabbed his broken arm. His lips are swelling larger by the moment, his words becoming more slurred, and the alley is getting brighter and brighter and no and no and NO he is not leaving her too, not when she's lost Mom and Giles and Tara have gone away and Buffy might as well be gone and...  
  
She looks around frantically, her eyes falling on the dumpster in the corner. She grabs Spike by the collar and hauls him down the alley, her back shrieking in protest, and how fair is it that stupid Buffy got the Slayer strength if this is what she's going to do with it...?  
  
And then she's opening the dumpster lid, pulling out garbage bags, and oh gross her hands are getting all slimy and it smells like maggots, dropping the bags over Spike, burying him like they're at the beach only with stinky old coffee filters and pizza boxes. She runs her hands over the pile, checking for light leaks, tugging oily rags and crusty hamburger wrappers over the holes. She is gonna shower, like, a million times after this...  
  
"Sorry about the smell and stuff... I'll see if I can get Tara or Clem or something... don't breathe for a while, okay?"  
  
Dawn studies the pile of trash, tears running down her cheeks. "I hate her."  
  
Barely audible: "No, you don't."  
  
"I do so! She's... it's like she's dead inside, like she can't feel anything, she..."  
  
But Spike does not hear her, passed out now, weighted down by garbage and guilt he should not be able to feel,  
  
(you can't feel anything real)  
  
remembering Katrina's pale face as she sank beneath the surface of the water, slowly disappearing, swallowed by shadows,  
  
(you belong in the shadows, with me)  
  
sucked downward by the weights he has placed on her, and he can't be crying, he's the soddin' Big Bad, he doesn't cry, and certainly not for some anonymous bint that was a bloody accident... and why is it he can only see Buffy's face, tinged blue in the moonlit river, growing darker and more alien with each inch she sinks?  
  
The beater, the beaten, the rescuer; Buffy screams as she sinks under the weight of despair in triplicate._


End file.
